


Gilded Cage for a Nightingale, Third Novel in Nightingale's Odyssey Series

by ShadowcrestNightingale



Series: Nightingale's Odyssey [3]
Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom - Susan Kay
Genre: Angel of Doom, Haunted past, Historical drama, Murder, Revenge, Uroboros, late 1800's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 13:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 114,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12682887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowcrestNightingale/pseuds/ShadowcrestNightingale
Summary: For Erik and Christine their existence in Manhattan could not be more idealistic. He, the director of the arts and first chair violinist at Carnegie Hall. She, a sought after soloist. The world has set things to right … or has it.A serpent slithers through the dark alleys of the city scarcely detected by Erik’s network of informants. Erik’s paranoia sparks anew, and the constant vigilance wears away at the famed Nightingale. Everyone around him notes the telltale state and many believe it to stem from the recent violent death of a friend—and the replacement of the second chair violinist. But Erik, even in his hysteria, sees a pattern linking back like the scales on a viper. Someone has a longstanding grudge. Someone knows who he once was, what he once did.And they are not the forgiving type.





	1. Chapter One

_**Chapter 1** _

_ **** _

_**~Manhattan 1896~** _

“You are not feeling it.”

“Yes I am, it’s just not coming naturally!”

Deep shadows cut into the cream walls framed by the gold-leafed moldings that lined the stage. With the main hall’s lights only at half current, both men standing amidst the Symphony Societies chairs on the otherwise empty stage of Carnegie Hall were cast deeply in the relief of the subdued illumination. A hesitant melody issued forth from the strings of a solitary violin before a short laugh once more resulted in an aborted attempt.

“Damn it, Erik! I can’t get that transition in, no matter what I try.” Walter Damrosch, resident conductor of both the Oratorio and Symphony Societies of New York, swung the bow through the air in a frustrated arc. Youthful, with short dark hair and prominent features, he cut a vigorous stance as he glared at the violin in his outstretched hand. “It just won’t come!”

Tucking his chin to try and quell the laughter, Erik steadfastly held the prominence of the nearly empty stage. Over six feet tall, silver-haired with a gracile build, he moved with unrestrained grace, bringing his own Stradivarius up below the white mask that covered his face, leaving only his mouth and eyes visible to the world; one of brilliant blue, the other a deep brown. He was attired in a black tailcoat of the finest wool set with obsidian buttons. A vest of midnight blue shimmered in the lights matching the cravat about his neck that tucked deep into the recesses. A golden wedding band adorned his left ring finger, a silver signet ring on his right little finger. That silver ring spoke volumes. Engraved with an elegant sweeping curved E, it also bore a slanted feather quill leaning from left to right, framed by an architect’s compass. The elements that drove his heart resided there: stone masonry and music. He bore an unerring wariness of the unkind years he had spent on this earth, ever present in the tension dwelling beneath every motion. Though he was unable to pinpoint the exact date of his birth in Boscherville, France, Erik was approaching the summer of what would have been his sixty-fifth year. He only knew for a fact that his years had passed six decades. Despite his advanced age, he had maintained remarkable fitness that revealed itself by feats that defied his slender build. This man was a born survivor, a man of many talents—and many flaws.

His long skeletal fingers gently rested upon the strings as he closed his eyes and drew the bow. Music flowed from the beautiful wooden instrument, nearly magical in its sheer complexity. He swayed to the building rhythm, letting the whim of the composition take him and with it poured forth the soul of the piece for the stunned Damrosch. Taking a step back, the younger director shook his head. “I cannot possibly play that! How did you … the fingers cannot humanly manage that!”

Lowering the instrument, Erik’s eyes flashed open to lock Damrosch with an accomplished stare. By now, after years of association, Damrosch had grown accustomed to the mismatched pair appraising him. “And yet, they have. Of course it _can_ be done. It just takes a bit of dexterity.”

“A bit?” scoffed Damrosch. “Be serious! That’s a little more than a bit. Besides, you’re cheating!”

“Cheating?” Beneath the cut of the mask, Erik’s lips turned in an amused smile. “How do you come by that conclusion?”

Pointing the bow to the left hand that enclosed the neck of the aged Stradivarius, he remarked, “You’re left handed. That puts the hand with the greater dexterity to the finer motions on the strings.”

Erik shrugged nonchalantly as he set his violin down. “Is it my fault that someone hundreds of years ago decided the left should hold the neck while the right controls the bow? It is not as though I was the one who invented the violin. Merely perfected its performance.”

“Did you have to compose the piece with such bloody complexity? You better have a name for it soon, and all the parts finished before the autumn season if the symphony is to learn them in sufficient time for the holiday concerts.”

“All of my works are complex. Surely you know that by now, dear Damrosch.” Holding up a finger, Erik pointed smugly to the violin in the conductors hands. “Besides, just because _you_ cannot play it does not mean that it cannot be played. Perhaps there is a reason you conduct and do not play.”

A dark scowl crossed Walter Damrosch’s face. “Careful! You may not be the concertmaster for much longer with such remarks.”

Erik’s laughter filled the hall before he fixed his friend with a pointed glare. “I dare you to try and replace me after how much you begged me to audition in the first place! We both know it is not simply on the bearing that I am the director of the arts here, but that I hold the position of first chair by sheer talent.”

Defeated by the logic, Damrosch set his violin aside and ran a hand through his sweaty hair. “Damn it, Erik. You have to stop that … being all … logical.”

Raising an eyebrow beneath the mask, he cocked his head before replying quietly. “I know of no other way. Dare I ask how you would prefer me to be?”

“Sorry. I don’t mean to be so upset. It’s just … ” He took a short breath before tossing an inquiring glance up. “Have you heard from Andrew lately?”

Erik rolled his eyes before folding his arms across his chest, a gesture of unyielding frustration that Damrosch was all too aware of the source. “Frequently. The wires are coming at all times of the day and night.”

“So … ” he asked tentatively. “You two are back to speaking terms once more?”

“In a manner of speaking.” His fingers drummed against his elbows. “If sending wires back and forth qualifies, then yes. I am responding in some degree to his requests.”

“Dear God, Erik.” He drew in a short breath. “The way you two fought last time you were in a room together, I swore someone was going to get hurt over a simple suggestion.”

Tensely, Erik shifted a dark glare to the young director. The voice that before had been elegant and full of life suddenly cast cold and venomous. “Simple suggestion? Removing the roof from Carnegie Hall to install the studio towers, in his idea to increase revenue, is no _simple_ suggestion! You cannot simply take down any wall and put a door anywhere you please! Structural integrity must be considered. If this had been his plan from the beginning, I dearly wish he would have shared that knowledge years ago when Tuthill and I were first drafting the building! We could have planned for the expansion instead of the maze we have been forced to create!”

Beneath the tirade, Damrosch had drawn back. “I don’t think he foresaw the financial problems we have been having. We have yet to turn a profit.”

“Who cares!” Throwing an arm into the air Erik shouted back, his already powerful voice amplified by the perfect acoustics of the hall. “How many times do I have to tell that man there is nothing to worry about! Have not all her expenses been covered through the years? As long as I breathe her roof is safe—that is until Carnegie ordered the damn thing removed! Do you know how long it took to put that roof on in the first place?”

Shaking his head, he confessed. “I wasn’t on the site at that time, Erik. But I see Andrew’s point about the towers, it should make a wonderful place for artists to come and form a community. I would think, as an artist of various disciplines, that is something you should relish. Besides, it is another lucrative contract for your company.”

“Like I required another to add to the five already in progress.” Erik growled savagely. “Do you have any idea the level of complexity it is to manage six construction sites throughout the city with only three trusted foremen at my disposal? I did not _require_ another contract. But there is certainly no way I would trust anyone else to touch this building!” Forcing the tension from his body, he cast his gaze to the ornate ceiling of his beloved hall, his voice softening with the shift of focus. “So far as the vision, in that much you are correct. The idea is wonderful. A place for artists to grow and nurture each other.” Morosely he sighed. “If I had access to a place like that as a boy … I wonder.”

Nodding, Damrosch replied quietly. “A place that would have been in awe of your talents instead of shunning you for your deformity.”

Erik stiffened before locking his venomous gaze once more. “Carnegie told you?”

Hastily his hands came up in defense. “It wasn’t Andrew’s fault! He had been drinking that night and I got him talking. Besides, it’s not like it is any grand leap of logic as to why a grown man is never seen without a mask on. Clearly you were hiding something.”

Exhaling gruffly, he turned away hanging his head in a gesture akin to shame. “No secrets are sacred anymore, I swear honor means nothing. I told him not to tell anyone, **ever**!”

“It doesn’t matter to me what’s beneath the mask, Erik.” Damrosch held his ground. Close association over the past few years had taught him enough to know when this man turned away he was forcing back a violent temper, the gesture like a dam holding back an immense lake. “How bad can it truly be?”

Erik’s hand tightened into a fist by his side, and with it Damrosch’s eyes widened as he took a panicked step back. The voice trembled with barely contained fury. “Pray you _never_ lay eyes upon the truth, Damrosch.”

Swallowing hard, the conductor’s slow steps carried him a few more feet back away from the potential danger that still loomed within striking distance. It was safer now for him to hold his tongue and he knew it. Minutes ticked by before the tension slowly ebbed from the masked man’s body. Gradually, he turned halfway to Damrosch, clearing his throat before remarking, “Carnegie is right in creating a place in this city to foster the growth of artists. He understands the essential nature of the requirement of moral support for the gifts to flourish. I had only wished he had shared that vision with me earlier, that we might have planned that addition before the cornerstone of the hall had been laid. That is all. And lately he has been distracted by other things, too distracted to answer my questions concerning the addition. The distance and communications have made this already delicate issue all the more troublesome.”

“Other things?” Damrosch approached the calmer Erik with some caution, just because the first wave of the storm had passed did not mean it was entirely over. “What is happening? Is it the steel industry?”

“The word _confidant_ is entirely lost upon you,” he scoffed dryly. “The information he has shared is not for everyone to know. It is not even being entrusted to those in his companies and likely for good reason.”

Scratching his head, he mused. “Why not within his own companies?”

Erik shrugged, resting his masked forehead in a hand. “I suppose there is good reason he is not sharing this specific information with them now. Trust me, having played chess against the man, I can tell you there is absolutely a grand strategy behind his reasoning. Employing me as a sounding board is assurance enough that word will go no further by a loose tongue. And he does require someone trustworthy. It should be simpler without coded wires back and forth across the Atlantic. But you know him and his summer trips. The strike at Homestead that nearly destroyed him proved insufficient to keep him within the boundaries of this country. This is proving no more capable of restraining him.”

“Yes,” he sighed. “Every year off to Scotland for a time and then some journey to a distant land of some sort. I’d be afraid of running short on money.”

With a laugh, Erik shot him a knowing glance. “Money is not something that Carnegie has need to fret over, of that I can safely assure you having seen his books. All the more reason he and I had the argument over how the towers were to be constructed. Between his fortune and my own there is no need to be concerned with cost effective solutions, nor the Hall’s books needing to be in the black any time soon. I even offered to buy the building from him in an effort to preserve the initial roof construction and install the towers with my own plan.”

“You offered to buy Carnegie Hall?” With disbelief he approached right under Erik’s brooding gaze. “What did he say?”

“He would have nothing of it. Threatened to break my contract and throw me out as director of the arts.” In defeat, his shoulders sagged. “If I wished to maintain a connection here to my lifeblood, it was made clear I had no choice than to concede to his execution.”

Shaking his head, Damrosch looked away dumbfounded. “Dear heavens, no wonder you didn’t speak to him after that! I never heard any of that.”

“Then you did not hear how I ensured Shadowcrest was to be involved in the tower’s construction.” A flicker of a sly grin stole across his lips. “Granted, it had been an idle threat as my integrity never could have carried it out.”

“What?” On pins and needles, Damrosch leaned forward as if about to be entrusted with a great secret.

“I told him if my company was not the lead contract on the towers, I would relentlessly hire all the entertainment for Carnegie Hall from the local vaudeville companies for the next year.”

Shivering at the very idea, the conductor contorted his features into that of a man about to vomit.

Erik laughed darkly.“I know. I almost could not stomach writing the wire of that threat. Thankfully, it meeting had not taken place in person. He would have deduced instantly there was no way that was anything aside from an idle threat.” He sighed. “Fortunately, that was the end of the negotiation. We agreed on terms after that and since then it has been back to business as usual.”

“Six contracts.” He shook his head in utter bewilderment. “Six. That’s a lot of stone to be broken by you.” Pausing for a moment in thought, his eyebrow raised up. “How much stonework do you actually partake in yourself?”

“It has been some time since I have taken part in the rough work, at least a year since I have even visited the quarry. That is usually reserved for men of lesser experience and skill. Master masons tend to concentrate effort on the finishing work; less physically strenuous but requiring far more attention to detail.” Stretching out his thin arms, there was not an ounce of fat upon them, pure muscle dressed over bone. “If you are asking if I might be able to still break out a rough block, I should reply why ever not? I am still strong enough.”

“Even after you broke your arm?”

“That was years ago.” He dismissed the comment with a flourishing stroke of his right arm. “Clearly the humerus healed sufficient for me to play my violin tirelessly as though nothing occurred. My strength and dexterity returned unhindered.”

Doubtfully, Damrosch shook his head. “Still, that requires a lot of strength to split a stone block.”

“Have you ever done it?” Crossing his arms over his chest, Erik lowered his gaze, effecting it with a challenge. The reply was obvious enough as the younger man shook his head. “It is less about strength and more about knowing where to strike then you can even fathom.”

“Just remember, when you’re conducting all this stonework, that I still need you here for rehearsals. The summer season is upon us and well rehearsed, but we’ll have the fall and winter to plan shortly.” His eyes widened as he noted Erik’s weary nod. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to pull out of first position!”

“Whatever makes you think I would make an absurd decision like that?” He cocked his head, a mild note of anger dwelling as an undertone. “You know what music means to me, Damrosch! I would sooner sell Shadowcrest than leave the Symphony Society. What is it with you today? When I accepted your request for a lesson I did not anticipate you would go to such lengths to anger me.”

Holding up his hands defensively, he struggled to find the right words under the overpowering gaze of an increasingly volatile Erik. “It wasn’t my intention to upset you.”

“Really?” Drawing up to his full height, he glared down upon the shorter conductor. “Then what had your intentions been? I assure you it certainly seems like a ploy to waste my already limited time.”

“I admit I was worried about the future of the hall.” He fretted, a bead of nervous sweat rolling down his face. “This had been my father’s dream, and thus I inherited it with the baton of both societies. It’s a lot of pressure and I just want to be certain that, now that they have a home, it won’t be taken away.”

With narrowed eyes, his icy reply came like a whiplash. “Why would it?” Gritting his teeth, he bit off each word forcefully. “For the final time, this hall’s destiny is assured by me. So long as I live the integrity of this hall is assured regardless of profit. Profit is hardly the reason I became involved in the first place! You know by now I am here strictly for the music. Nothing and no one will ever come between me and maintaining the highest standard of performances upon this stage.”

“Even the construction of the towers?” He asked tentatively despite Erik stiffening once more.

“Even the construction of the studio towers, which is why Carnegie and I came to an agreement.” He held out his hands in concession. “You have nothing to worry about. Somehow I will manage my time to meet all my contracts, help you with the selections for the upcoming programs, and be there for all the rehearsals.”

“How?”

“As usual I will go without sleep.” It took a conscious effort for him to try and break into humor, to turn the conversation into something of a joke. “Sleep is such an abysmal waste of time anyway. Lying there completely idle for hours on end, who wants to do that over being productive?”

Innocently, Damrosch shrugged. “Most normal people, actually.”

“Which explains why very little gets accomplished by normal people.” Taking up his violin he threw Damrosch an expectant glance. “Are we finished or are you still determined to master my composition?”

“Do I have a chance at it?” His hands embraced his own instrument as he brought it up to his chin. “Be honest.”

“At your current skill level … ” A small dismissive shrug escaped Erik as he watched Damrosch placing his fingers. “No, not like that. You will never get the transition from that angle.”

“But, it’s the correct placement by classical training.” He protested.

“Limitations. That is why you cannot get it. You are trapped in a paradigm where the fingers can rest in only one position. Did the audience come to observe the precise placement of your fingers on the neck or to hear the music brought forth from the instrument with an unbound spirit?”

Staring at the strings, Damrosch blinked as it dawned upon him that it didn’t matter how correct his fingers were placed. “No, I suppose they would not be observing that at all.”

“Precisely. Now, let me show you how to rest your fingers to allow the rapid note progression this composition requires. It was not written entirely within the classical element, thus the struggle you find yourself in. My inspiration comes from the more fluid patterns heard in the music of Romany. To execute such rapid transitions that transcend measure and beat … ” Placing the violin beneath his chin, Erik’s supple fingers demonstrated the alternate grip, dancing soundlessly along the strings.

At the rear of the auditorium, the door opened to admit two young men, both bearing violin cases. “Pardon my manners, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Adam Wallbeck. Welcome to Manhattan. It was Friedrich wasn’t it?”

“Yes, Friedrich Reiniger.” They cordially shook hands as they walked down the lengthy aisle. “I came from Germany where I played first chair for some time. I was told that Carnegie Hall’s Symphony Society was the best to join in all of America.”

“First chair?” Wallbeck glanced down at the violin case embraced in the hand of the burly immigrant. “Violin, well I daresay you won’t stand much of a chance of ranking the concertmaster in this hall.”

Reiniger placed a proud hand to his chest. “You have yet to hear me play. No one is faster or more precise on the strings than I.”

Shaking his head, Wallbeck pointed to the stage. “He is. And I would stake my position on that.”

Frozen halfway up the aisle, Reiniger narrowed his eyes as he took in the odd figure of the masked man coaching Damrosch on the stage. “The one in the mask? That tall, skinny wisp of a man is your concertmaster?”

“Mmm hmm.” Wallbeck nodded with respect. “That’s Erik. You can trust me, there is no one on this continent that can play like he can. The man opposite him is Walter Damrosch, he’s the conductor.”

“Amusing that a conductor is receiving instruction from a simple musician.” Reiniger observed quietly, rooted in his position as he watched Damrosch try once more to unsuccessfully play Erik’s composition.

Damrosch requested. “Alright, show me again. But this time play it aloud with me.”

With a flourishing bow, Erik brought the bow to the strings and in a blur of minute motions, the selected measures poured forth from the violin with seemingly no effort. Beside him, Damrosch was slashing away dripping with sweat, while Erik remained fully composed. The strokes of his bow were minimal, the finger motions conservative. Glancing over, Erik’s eyes grinned at the conductor. “Less-is-more.” He finished with a bow. “It requires not so much muscle as finesse.”

In the aisle, Reiniger’s jaw was taut at the display he had just observed, his eyes taking in the feat. This was a challenge! Obviously there was more to this first chair violinist then met the eyes!

Beside him, Wallbeck nodded. “See what I mean? Good luck.”

“We’ll see about that.” The German nodded curtly before approaching the foot of the stage. “Excuse me, Gentlemen.”

Damrosch lowered his violin and curiously walked to the edge of the stage. “Can I help you?”

“I was informed you are Walter Damrosch, the conductor of this fine musical hall?” Reiniger placed a hand upon the edge of the stage. “I have recently arrived here in America from my home in Germany and am eager to join the best symphony here.”

From his vantage point, Erik remained stock still. His shadowed eyes locked upon the newcomer with a wary glare as he observed Damrosch bending down to shake hands with him. “Indeed I am. Who do I have the pleasure of meeting?”

“Reiniger, Friederich Reiniger.” A strong grip embraced Damrosch’s hand. “It is with great pride that I offer my skills as first chair violinist to you.”

With a nod over his shoulder to the dark and now silent figure, Damrosch replied. “Concertmaster has already been taken. Besides, we have our set for the summer season and won’t be holding auditions until the autumn. However, you are certainly welcome to attend our concerts and become familiar with our selections until that time.”

“I could play for you now, honestly you have no idea what you are missing.” Offering a little bow, he smiled graciously. “It would be an honor.”

“I apologize, Reiniger.” Withdrawing from the edge of the stage, he gestured back to Erik. “But both myself and the director of arts have a tight schedule for today. We regretfully must decline the offer. Please do come to the concert next week. Perhaps we may have a moment to hear you then.”

Lowering his eyes, he heaved a long sigh. “I shall simply have to starve until then.” Turning from the stage, the German began a long, lonely walk down the aisle towards the rear door of the hall—a pair of mismatched eyes tracking him the whole way.

After the door shut, Damrosch blinked up at the still frozen Erik. “Well, that was rather odd. If he’s that skilled he won’t starve.”

Erik nodded stiffly, his eyes still watching the door. “He spoke remarkably fluent English for someone fresh off the boat from Germany, there was hardly an accent.”

With a gentle nudge, Damrosch chided. “You’re one to remark! How many languages can you speak?”

Offering a shrug, Erik clarified. “Those languages took time to learn, time to acquire the ability to speak like a native without my original French accent effecting the vowels.”

“You are entirely too suspicious.”

Tucking his Stradivarius back into its case, he shook his head. “On the contrary, you are entirely too trusting. Now, if you will excuse me, while you do whatever it is conductors do when they are not conducting, I have three work sites to check on the progress of before the sun sets this evening.”


	2. Chapter Two

_ **Chapter 2** _

_ **** _

_We never truly know how rich we are until we face loss. Even as I sit at my desk in the torturous light of a single candle flame casting my eyes over those written words they seem trite. Perhaps, because far too often in this world we take everything so completely for granted. We need to be constantly reminded. Enjoying good health, a loving family, a respectable home, the means to make a living, everything that defines us … we rarely take the time to contemplate how swiftly these elements can become compromised, stripped away. Only in that stark light do we finally observe how precious our lives really are. Outside the window, the winter storm is releasing its fury while the quill in my hand contemplates my uncertain future. Fear has walked beside me before, a companion that drove me onwards to higher heights and to the cusp of my greatest achievements. This time is different. Fear’s paralyzing grasp has sent my thoughts back to where this all began, when I was but a naïve fool believing I still possessed limitless power. Had I only opened my eyes sooner, perhaps this may be ending differently. For me now … it is too late._

_~Erik_

Music. Ever the greatest current throughout my life. Never, in all my existence, did I know a time when my world was devoid of that accompaniment I had come to embrace as my lifeblood. The beauty and splendor of the active creation, whether through the pure voice or the assistance of a beloved instrument, remained unrivaled in the whole of this world. I may have become a man of varied interests and disciplines. But music would ever be the throne of my vast empire. By some miracle of fate, my empire held sway over the grandest crown-jewel music had to offer, Carnegie Hall. A cathedral of music so acoustically perfect as to preserve the faintest pluck of a cello string up to the highest seat in the balconies. Years ago, when the ambitious project had come to my attention, I poured every resource possible into ensuring that my company, Shadowcrest Industries, would gain at least a partial contract. This was an accomplishment I had to achieve. This was a building my hands must construct. This was a gift I would have died to give to the world, a place where the true spirit of music could be worshiped in all her glory. I helped to carve her massive stone walls. I dressed the graceful moldings that adorned her Italian arches. I carved myself into the very structure itself—and nevermore left her halls.

Thus, five years after she opened her doors to the public, I remained a permanent fixture, as much a part of the building as the marble support columns. Director of the arts for the hall and the Symphony Society’s concertmaster, it was impossible to define my life without some mention of this place which was a second home to me. Quite accidentally, I had become a public figure in the city of Manhattan. Renowned for my skills of musicianship, these surpassed my reputation as a highly commanded architect and master mason. I would have given up the latter, save for the foundations of my life had been laid in Shadowcrest’s stonework. While music provided an active outlet for my creative urges, its effects were fleeting and transient. Stonework provided a lasting mark upon the world. I required both to be truly content in life. Had I even an inkling of the storm that was brewing, I would have been keeping a more weathered eye on my surroundings.

Summer’s long daylight still shown in the sky. I should have been on a work site with a chisel and mallet in my hands, but today was special. Today I traded the chisel for my Stradivarius, and the beating rays of the hot summer sun for the concentrated blaze of the limelight. The flick of Damrosch’s baton carried through the final measure of Mozart’s concerto number five in A major. We had chosen to perform the alternate version with the adagio in E. The full house had been given a real performance as we reached the finale. Beneath my fingers, I felt the vibration of my violin casting her beautiful voice to every ear within the hall. All eyes of the symphony locked upon the solitary Damrosch, waiting for the final release as we held the chord. By his command, in unison, the hall was dashed into silence before an explosion of applause.

With a series of bows, Damrosch covered the entire auditorium before stepping aside to indicate the group behind him. It had been a grand concert, with a gracious audience. At last he held up his hands. “Thank you. Thank you! Now, if I may have your attention for a moment. Today’s program has an unlisted performance that requires an introduction. Those of you who frequent our performances here at Carnegie Hall are familiar with many of the members of our Societies. Regardless of such familiarity, I feel honored to recognize the composer of our next piece. Erik, would you please come forth.”

Laying my Stradivarius on my chair, I came up beside Damrosch at the front of the stage, the limelight followed my progress accompanied by an explosion of applause. Beyond the washout of the rays I could see very little of the immense hall I knew to dwell there. As the conductor stepped back, leaving the stage to me, I held my hands up to quell the response. “Madames, Mademoiselles, and Monsieurs. I thank you for your warm applause.” I had practiced my speech several times over the last day, but now upon the stage the words refused to come to mind. Closing my eyes, I brought my hands steepled before me as though in prayer. Within my chest my heart thundered against my ribs. I drew a long slow breath before I even attempted to open my eyes again.

“Over the past five years you have sat in this hall before this very stage and been enthralled by the sights and sounds we have laid before you.” Holding up a finger I smiled. “But today is special. Damrosch has given me the extreme pleasure of presenting a gift upon this very stage for all of you to hear. Four years ago, on this very day, the love of my life gave her heart to me in marriage.” With a flourish, I showed the glint of gold on my left ring finger. Since the day she had slipped it on my finger it had never left its rightful place for longer than an hour at a time, and only when absolutely necessary. “On that day I daresay my life became complete and I have never looked back since.” Ironically, I glanced over my shoulder and held a hand out to summon the now stunned Christine from the Oratorio Societies risers behind the Symphony. Hesitantly, she came forth, wending her way around the musicians to at last come into my waiting embrace at the front of the stage. On her finger glimmered the ring of diamonds and garnets I had fashioned for her myself for the engagement. Alongside it, the simple band of gold that matched mine. My fingers traced the line of her chin as she gazed up at me. “Christine Daae, I love you more than anything upon this earth. You honored me years ago when you became my wife, words alone fail to express the depth of my gratitude for how much joy you have brought to me. Now, upon this stage, I will honor you.”

Breathless, a tear of joy shimmered down her cheek as I withdrew gracefully, leaving her to stand aglow in the limelight surrounded by the curve of the Symphony Society.

Once I had reclaimed my violin, I remained standing, ever so slightly removed from the orchestra. Offering a nod to Damrosch, I placed my fingers upon the strings. “Maestro, if you please.”

We had been planning this for months. With the nature of the artistic community, keeping the performance a secret from Christine had proven difficult. More than once I had been forced to discipline a musician for leaving the score carelessly upon a music stand. The rehearsals had to be timed precisely to ensure there was no chance my wife might wander into the hall unannounced. Somehow, we had managed to keep the entire score from prying eyes and ears.

With the wave of Damrosch’s baton, the hall sprang to life in the symphony I had painstakingly poured my heart and soul into for her. With every stroke of my bow I lost myself in the music.

Centimeters from her astonishing beauty, I lingered before her, letting the last note quiver in the air before fading into silence. In seemingly the same gesture as lowering my violin, my hand produced a brilliant red rose I had secured within my coat before the concert began. Presenting it to her trembling hands, my eyes looked deeply into hers. “You shall forever be my rose.”

She flung her arms around me, pulling me tightly into her embrace. “Erik … ” Overcome by emotion she could say no more as I laid my head to rest in the curls of her deep golden hair. The thunder of applause carried on for some moments as we dwelt in the light, uncaring.

It was a celebration for everyone that evening. Though the concert had ended, I found few wanted to leave the hall; the musicians and even some of the audience content to linger in a series of unending toasts to Christine and my health. We had much to celebrate, or at the very least—I did. Four years of incredible marriage to a woman with astonishing strength to endure my peculiarities. In addition, it was a miracle that I managed to still be among the living at my age and given my history. But the most remarkable milestone I secretly toasted with each glass was that I had finally managed to embrace a tentative comfort truly living within society. For once in my long and bitter life, I found myself seeking interaction with others rather than perpetually shying away. I was no fool, I knew that Christine’s presence at my side had been the greatest influence.

Within a few short hours I had tipped a glass far more frequently than I was accustomed to. Perhaps the multiple cases of champagne I had imported directly from France for the evening had been a little much for the celebration, but the bottles kept opening. Typically, I shied away from consuming drinks in public, playing a sleight-of-hand trick out of my coat pocket where I would dress up a white wine replacement to resemble what everyone else was consuming; a lack of trust after having survived two poison attempts at parties, events I never wished to endure again. However, since the case had been mine, and the bottle I poured from well observed, I was drinking with great abandon.

  
I should have known the outcome of the evening, even before the first note rent the air. I should have considered what happens when authentic free flowing champagne is passed around a room that contained some of the best violinists in the city. Sooner or later, someone’s ego gets placed on the line. The sound of the bow drawn slow and deliberately across the string dashed the room to silence, the series of notes known well to the violin section.

This was the call. I turned to find Wallbeck, staring down the neck of his violin at me with a cheeky grin on his face. His slow eddy of notes called out the challenge of the circle. It was a game I had introduced not long after joining the symphony. The circle was an old bonfire game, where the challenge was to play the series of songs to the last man standing. One lost by making a mistake: a wrong note, a slow stroke, even a hesitation was enough to end the challenge. The trick was that the song changed after a three time coda, the next song called out by the performer to the immediate right of the last. It was random and often wild when the transitions became dreadfully chaotic. The violinists enjoyed the challenge of the game.

Taking my Stradivarius in hand, I chuckled. “You really want to do this, Wallbeck?”

Both our bows were in syncopation as I echoed his call. “I do, Erik. That throne is still yours, but I will take it from you.”

“You can try.” I smiled back, reading his slow melody-line and wondering what style he was about to jump into. I knew him better by now then to assume he was showing his hand. “Alright boys, call the circle. Who else is in?”

In a moment five more violins joined in the current; Connolly, Jones, Seambrook, Eastwick, and Lure. Sliding his bow to the end, waiting to tear into the first chord, I saw Wallbeck suddenly hesitate when a dark figure stepped up on my left and played in.

“Walter?” He blinked up at the director.

“Why not?” Damrosch shrugged.

Throwing him a knowing glance, I grinned. “Let us see how long our dear conductor lasts. Your call to circle Wallbeck, shall we have the first piece?”

With a wicked grin, he snapped the bow up and called out, “ _The Tanner’s Jug_!”

“No!” Damrosch cried out in immediate frustration as within a three count everyone tore into the melody. Between gritted teeth he growled. “That’s a slip-jig!”

“So? The rules don’t specify the music style.” With a relaxed smile, Wallbeck leaned back. weaving to the disrupted rhythm of the slip-jig. So far everyone was still in.

But Damrosch stared at the strings in deep concentration, struggling with the rhythmic hitch. “It’s a _violin_ circle! Not a _fiddle_ circle!”

“Same instrument, different technique.” I shrugged as we entered the second coda. “Jones that was you, out!”

With a whispered curse, Jones stepped away into the crowd that surrounded us. A moment later Eastwick pulled back having hesitated on the upstroke and losing momentum.

“Can you even write this style down?” Damrosch asked.

Both Wallbeck and I laughed in unison before he replied. “Yeah, but it looks really strange.”

“What’s the time signature?”

Throwing a note to the unique beat of the piece, I shot him a glance. “Whatever you feel. If you’re trying to throw me off by chatting it will not work. I memorized this piece decades ago.” We were reaching the final coda, all eyes looked up to Connolly who was enjoying the Celtic theme of the night.

The Irishman tossed a note to the wind before replying, “ _Samantha’s Wish_.” I had to respect that. We now not only had to change keys but transition to a jig. Lure failed and fell back. Somehow Damrosch had managed to elegantly slip into the new piece. After a few wild measures, Eastwick’s E string snapped leaving him howling from a welt on his finger. Seambrook remained silent, drawing his bow efficiently but I could see he was growing weary and right as we drove into the final coda he dropped out, rubbing his forearm. Beside me, Connolly was watching and waiting. Across the closing circle I saw Wallbeck eyeing me with dogged determination. With Seambrook’s withdrawal, the choice now fell to me.

I leveled my gaze down the neck of my violin as I whispered out over the torrential jig. “ _Devil’s Bridge._ ”

“Oh shit!” Damrosch cried out as several shocked glances turned his way.

“Manners, dear Walter!” Chided Wallbeck. “We are in public and there are ladies present.”

I had chosen the piece on purpose, Wallbeck had begun learning it a few years ago when he heard me warming up before a concert. Insisting I teach it to him, he could play all the notes, but not at the competitive speed I mercilessly drove the last coda to. He had yet to be able to play the final measures without an off tempo hesitation. I knew his pain, it had taken me weeks to truly master this piece.

Driving back into a complex slip-jig only Wallbeck and I were left smiling. I was surprised that Damrosch had lasted this long, when his bow flung wide and ticked an off string, dashing his chances. “Where did you learn this piece again?” He snapped as he stepped back.

“I stole it from an Irishman at a fair near Novara.” My bow was gliding across the strings in a swift succession of dizzying notes. “Watched him play three nights in a row from the side of the stage while waiting for my appointed act. On the forth night, I echoed him.”

“I’ll wager that went over well!” Connolly laughed.

I could not help but laugh. “Oh yes, I discovered that night it was best to find another fair to travel with!”

  
A moment later, Connolly conceded when he missed a down beat. A wicked grin crossed my masked face as I heard someone in the crowd calling out. “Just Erik and Adam now. Come on Adam, take him!”

“Shall we race across the bridge?” I goaded him on as we reached the final coda.

“I will catch you!” But I could see the beads of sweat dripping from his forehead, the nervous tick in the corner of his eyes. He knew it was coming.

“Try!” Increasing the speed, I let the notes only hang in the air for a moment before snatching them back. The piece was like an intricate game of juggling notes in various complex patterns. Try as he might, as we drove to the final sequences, he was getting so close—closer than he had ever been before in the circle—just at the flick of the note, he failed the down-stroke and missed the next note.

To his wailed curse, I played the final three notes and thrust my bow in the air to the mixture of applause and commiserating moaning. Every performer knew the pain of a victory snatched so close to triumph.

Chin tucked to his chest, Wallbeck conceded. “Once more, Erik, you reign in the circle.”

Throwing an arm around his shoulder, I complimented. “That’s the farthest you have made it full speed. You should be proud. Remember Wallbeck, I learned this piece well over forty years ago, the intricacies only truly mastered after years of practice.”

He flashed that cheeky grin back at me, crowned with determination. “I will dethrone you one day.”

“I have no doubt.”

His eyes glanced to the side. “Ahh, young Charles. And tell me Erik, is your son to be the next king of the circle?”

As Charles came beside me, I reached back and ruffled his dark hair. “Only if he begins to practice.”

“Father!” He glared up at me. “You always say that, but I never hear _you_ practice.”

“That would be because you are sleeping when I do.”

Wallbeck burst into laughter. “Your father is right, practice is important to any discipline.”

“Not if you’re a natural who never has to work at anything.” Beside me, Charles offered me a cold shoulder.

He had not counted on Nadir close behind him. Nadir, my dear Persian friend, had been watching over my son during the concert. And by the looks of things, it was time for them to be heading home. I loved Charles, but recently a tension was building between us, the roots of which I could not readily discern. Maybe it was a phase. The boy _was_ thirteen and wearing long pants now. Entering adulthood seemed to be changing the dynamics between us. Where once I could make him laugh with a mere magic trick, now it only earned me a scorned eye roll.

“It’s getting late, Erik.” Nadir placed a firm hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I wanted to let you know we were departing so you weren’t concerned when you couldn’t find us.” Charles muttered something just under his breath about worry that I did not completely catch before Nadir’s glare cut him off. “Young Master Charles, it seems, requires his rest to remember his manners.”

Shaking my head, I tried to wrap my arm around my boy in a hug, only to see him withdraw roughly. I longed for the not-so distant days when those eyes gazed at me in wonder instead of this concoction comprised of mixed emotions. These were uncharted waters for me. My father’s death had precluded my birth. The closest I came to having a father figure in my life had been an old stone mason I briefly apprenticed under when I was around Charles’s age.

Christine approached us with a sweet smile, a glass of champagne in her hand. When she gripped my hand with a brief reassuring squeeze, I knew my love had been eavesdropping. “Nadir, Charles, I have barely had a chance to see you this evening in all the flourish of activity.”

Nadir glanced at me shaking his head for a moment. It took longer then it should have for me to realize he was staring at the rather large strawberry I had absently plucked from a passing plate. “Erik, it really is a little refreshing to see you eating more than you used to. I swear, since you two married, it’s the first time I ever witnessed you with a healthy appetite!”

I felt a finger explore the ribs beneath my vest, a finger that turned out to be Christine offering me a crooked grin. “He eats like a horse these days! Constantly munching or drinking something, we must own most of China for the amount of tea leaves needed for the volume he brews. And yet … ” She playfully glared, attempting to pinch my midriff. “He never gains a single ounce. Do you know how much envy that would invoke in most women?”

Nibbling on the strawberry, I shrugged. “I’ve always been slender. Honestly, I think the only way I could gain weight is by holding a piece of masonry while standing on the scale.”

Nadir burst into laughter. “Well, as long as I have known your husband, Christine, he has always presented the same painfully thin build.”

“Thank you, Nadir.” I gave him a little swat on his belly. “You however, have grown a little stouter in these years. Perhaps I need to provide you with more errands to work off your daily bread.”

Giggling into her hand, Christine filled the silence that followed the playful banter. Her eyes settled pointedly upon her son. “Isn’t this a nice evening?”

“Wonderful.” He muttered in return. Nadir’s elbow jabbed him in the ribs and he offered the boy a reproachful glare. After a slow eye roll, Charles turned to his mother and declared, “Happy Anniversary, Mother.”

Her arms embraced him as she kissed the dense black hair on top of his head. “Thank you, Darling.”

Feeling a little out of the picture, I was left to guard the emotional injury of my son’s critical omission beneath my age old stoic veneer. Wallbeck and Connolly came to my rescue when I felt a hand tap my shoulder.

“A fair in Italy?” asked the Irishman with a short laugh. “Tell me what you were doing stealing Irish songs from fiddlers in Italy. This must be quite a story.”

With an idle shrug and a sip from my champagne glass, I replied, “That’s how I made my living for a while. A great portion of my skill with the violin comes from my time spent among the Romanies.”

As I often discovered, when I began to speak of the past, my audience rapidly grew. Damrosch was among those to turn his attention as Connolly laughed. “A Gypsy? Erik, that’s hard to believe, you are French are you not?”

“Originally, yes.” I replied casually.

“You, a Gypsy?” Seambrook chuckled. “That seems a rather amusing picture.”

Holding up a hand, I snatched their attention. “Gentlemen, I was never _actually_ a Gypsy. Foreign blood was never accepted fully into their culture, as was custom. Seeing as how I was but a French boy, I was nothing more than a source of income.”

Wallbeck shook his head, wryly remarking. “How did you end up with them? Did they kidnap you, like so many stories from the countryside employed to frighten ignorant, young children?”

“As a matter of fact, Wallbeck, I was kidnapped.”

That dashed them all into stunned silence. I had shared hints I had spent time in the Gypsy camp, but not how I had come to be there in the first place.

“I should have loved to have seen you perform on such a stage, surely you would have outplayed any Gypsy peasant!” Damrosch remarked in amazement.

“And you would not have heard me play.” With a sly grin I tossed him back his pocket watch. This was a game we had been playing for years and he had yet to see me take it from his pocket—even once. “I was not a musician in their camp, my act was more in the realm of magic. Besides, I could not reveal I had skill with a violin as I did not own one … officially. Mine had been a stolen instrument until Ghert learned where his happened to have vanished to.”

“Damn it, Erik! When are you going to show me how you manage that?” Ramming the gold watch back into his pocket he sighed. “One of these days you’ll forget to return it.”

“And miss the look on you face? Not a chance.” I mercilessly teased him.

Connolly fingered the tail of my coat. “So, did you dress like them too? The wild colors?”

Were it not for the mask, they would have known how embarrassed I was at the question. “Regretfully, yes. What choice did I have? Nothing matched, and when I parted company with them I looked every bit the garish Gypsy traveling from fair to fair. Those were not easy years by any means.”

Christine touched my arm to gain my distracted attention. “Nadir and Charles are heading home. Did you want to stay?” I glimpsed pleading in her eyes, my Angel was enjoying herself.

“Of course, my dear.” I brought my hand down her cheek with a soft caress. “The night is just beginning. There is no need for us to cease the merriment.” Looking up, I waved to Charles and Nadir. “Good night, Charles.” Not even a backward glance from him as he departed. All Nadir could do was offer me an apologetic shrug. “What did I do to earn this scorn?”

“He loves you, Erik.” Christine embraced me. “Please remember that. He’s just going through a difficult time. I’m sure when you were his age things were turbulent and confusing.”

I winced at the memories, wishing I could forget those years for reasons far different from my son’s!

In the course of the evening, the warmth of the alcohol washed over me as Christine and I reclined on a couch in the greenroom, laughing at the drawn-out antics of Wallbeck and Trevor Craster arguing over which instrument held the greater merit; violin or oboe. Many of their remarks common decency forbids me to record. Damrosch could hardly find his breath between laughing fits.

“At least the violin doesn’t sound like a goose being throttled!” Wallbeck gestured as though committing the act himself, the mockery of a discordant honk triggering a fresh burst of laughter amongst the crowd.

“Really!” Craster barked back. “The oboe doesn’t squeal like a demented cricket when the bow slips across the strings!”

“No,” he shot back, laughing. “The oboe only sounds like that when _you_ play it, Trevor! Maybe you should get your reed waxed more often!”

“You don’t wax a reed!” Too late the innuendo dawned upon the unfortunate Craster while the rest of us had doubled over, consumed with laughter. My sweet Christine had tears staining her face from the merriment.

“You sick man!” Craster shook his head while fighting the laughter that now overtook him as he flung an arm around Wallbeck’s shoulders. “You sick, sick man!”

Damrosch held up a hand. “When it comes to which is mightier, the oboe or the violin … ”

“The champagne always wins!” I concluded for him holding up my glass.

At the edge of our merry gathering a quiet figure stepped forward, case in hand. In my present state it took me a moment to place where I had seen him before. Ahh yes, the German from a week ago what’s-his-name? Reini- something?

He addressed us before I could recall his name. “Pardon me, Sirs. I do not wish to interrupt. If you remember we met previously, Freidrich Reiniger. Is this a good time for you to hear me play?”

Damrosch wiped the tears of merriment from his eyes, trying to clear them as I held up a hand beckoning the German closer into the circle. “I remember you. In a weeks time you have still not managed to starve to death as was your claim. Thus, you must possess some talent.” Narrowing my eyes at this burly gentleman, dressed in the rough wool suit, the same he had presented himself in the time before, I observed he was unmoved by my glare. This man was searching for a challenge. Beside me, I felt Christine relaxing into my shoulder, we had both been drinking in excess tonight.

“I have not starved, but it has been a rough time.” He set down his case. I noted a quick hungry glance to my Stradivarius which rested in the open case on the end table within my reach.

A quiet laugh escaped me as I drained the last of the champagne from my glass before setting it aside. “You persist in your wish to play for us, despite being told there is no chair currently available.”

Pulling himself up before me he nodded stiffly. “I will play for you and you will realize what you are missing in this symphony.”

Lowering my gaze to fix him with a challenging stare through the eye holes of my mask, I let my left hand stray to the case, gently seizing my violin. “Alright, Reiniger, you have my attention. But we shall conduct this under my rules.”

“Erik, what are you doing?” Damrosch blinked at me, glancing to the stranger as I gently slid from beneath Christine, resting her comfortably on the couch.

Whispering into her ear, I laid a hand upon her cheek, “Darling, I shall be right back.”

“I love you, Erik.” She kissed me before I withdrew.

Fixing Reiniger with a hard stare, I gently plucked the strings of my violin, ensuring that it was fully tuned after the previous fiddle circle. I was content to find that this man was intelligent enough to be doing the same. By now, we had gained the attention of most of the occupants in the room. “Here are the rules. We each play the same piece, the best performance trumps of course. If that should be you, first chair and the title of concertmaster is yours.” His eyes gleamed brightly in prospect. I brought the bow in a slashing arc before his eyes. I would show this upstart who was master here. “If it is not, you shall leave this hall and conduct your business henceforth in the proper way.”

“Agreed.” Reiniger’s shorter frame stood before me, filled with pride and self assurance. “Only one question, how shall we fairly judge this competition?”

Emitting a dark laugh, I placed a hand on Damrosch’s shoulder, the man was practically hyperventilating beside me. I answered the question with a nod. “You think I have not pondered that. Blind judge. With eyes closed and each of us playing from the same point in the room, it will be unknown to him which man is performing. He selects whomever performs the piece better. That is all. Who would be more suited to select than our second chair, Wallbeck.”

Wallbeck glanced up. “What? But I … ”

With a wave of a bow, I drew him forth from the crowd. “I insist. Now stand here and close your eyes. We shall commence momentarily.” Doing as he was instructed, I waited long enough to let the tension build before flicking my bow to Reiniger for him to take my place in the room as I stepped back. I would let him go first, let him select whichever piece he felt would display his talents best. And then, I would simply outplay him. I relished the terrified expression on Damrosch’s features as he watched my reckless game commence.

The air was thick with tension as the German brought his bow to the strings, his hard eyes fixing me with a determined glare. The first notes of the piece rent the air in a graceful arc as I placed the very piece. Written by Leopold Damrosch, none other than Walter’s father, clearly Reiniger was looking to use that angle to help him win favor. The entire time he played, I did not smile, only watched his fingers work the strings with nothing short of skilled mastery. He was indeed good. All the notes were there, the rhythm and movements accurate to every technical aspect. Yes, he had it. Without a single wrong note or sluggish arpeggio.

When he completed his rendition, I gently flicked my bow to gesture him aside, taking his place before the still blind Wallbeck. He gave the ground voluntarily, smugly observing me as I brought the bow to the strings. It was only then that I let a sinister smile spread across my lips. Had Reiniger ever laid eyes upon Leopold Damrosch’s original draft, as I had? There was a certain privilege to having held the handwritten draft in the family’s private music library. Familiar with the intricacies of the piece, I locked him with a cold glare before letting the bow fly across the strings to unleash the piece into the silent room. It did not escape my attention that tears rolled down Damrosch’s cheeks as I played his father’s music, infused with all the passion the piece deserved yet rarely obtained. By the time I reached the final measure, even Wallbeck had tears rolling from his tightly shut eyes. Reiniger stood stiff and cold with his violin grasped tightly in his hands.

Confidently, I withdrew from the circle so as not to be accused of fixing the results. “Wallbeck. Which was it?”

“Oh my God.” He opened his eyes wiping them with his handkerchief. “The second one, beyond question.”

Casting the German a dismissive glare, I pointed my bow towards the door. “You have your answer. Now go.” I did not wait for the furious Reiniger to hastily pack up his violin and depart from the room before I dropped myself, like a reigning king, upon the couch beside my queen of music.

“Erik.” Damrosch had mostly recovered his senses as he leaned over me. “What were you thinking promising him something like that! We hadn’t even heard him play and yet you offered him a chance at the first chair?”

With an arrogance I could feel, I shrugged to him. “There was never any promise that would come to pass, Damrosch. What were you worried about?”

His eyes widened as he took in the empty bottles of champagne. “We’ve been drinking too much tonight … you could have gambled away everything.”

“I knew I could out play him.” I waved my hand.

“And what if you hadn’t been able to? What if you were too drunk to be able to out perform a sober man?”

I half closed my eyes, confident in my skills. “Clearly, I am not. I am your concertmaster, more than capable of demonstrating that rank regardless of conditions. Now relax, was this not supposed to be a party?”

“Right, Walter!” Wallbeck put a hand on his shoulder. “There was never any real doubt, was there? Come on. What was that story you were telling me earlier?”

As the party once more returned to a jovial state of chaos I found myself increasingly lost in the swirl of conversations. I vaguely suspect that it had more to do with the effects of the champagne I had been drinking. I do recall at some point in the evening spinning around on a make-shift dance floor with Christine gracefully embraced in my arms to the impromptu music of a few members of the Symphony. As rumor has it, my natural grace is incapable of making up for my utter lack of instruction in ballroom dancing. However, the apparent highlight of the entire night occurred late when, after a considerable number of bottles of champagne, I had apparently removed my coat and tied my cravat about my waist like a belt. Violin in hand, I proceeded to play a wild Gypsy air, belting out the lyrics at the top of my lungs as I pantomimed the tale of a young Gypsy rogue who was the victim of a very young noble lass’s affection.

I now knew how much alcohol was too much alcohol.

It was well into the night when we found the last stragglers of our gathering in the foyer, ready to depart for our homes. As I put my cloak on, Damrosch chuckled. “I daresay you shall have one hell of a headache on the morrow.” His breath caught for a moment as he tried to suppress a drunken belch. “As apparently shall I. Oh dear, Erik, don’t tell me you will be working tomorrow.”

“If I am to keep a schedule close to that which I have laid out for myself, then yes. The Ballard mansion has some recently requested modifications, which requires my presence on the site whether I am hungover or not.” I shrugged, still feeling pleasant from the drink as Christine tucked herself into my arms. “It matters not to the rest of the world that today was my anniversary.”

Pulling out his pocket watch, Damrosch observed the time. “You mean yesterday. It’s past midnight.”

“Details.” I waved it away.

Outside a sharp crack caused every head to turn in unison. There was no storm outside, the entire day and evening had been clear. That could only mean a handful of causes for the sudden disturbance. We darted towards the door. In the flicker of the street light, stretched out in a growing puddle of blood, lay the body of a man in a black suit. Beside him, where he dropped it, lay the violin case. A case I knew well from the rehearsals at the hall. Everyone froze, staring in wordless horror as Adam Wallbeck’s eyes gazed heavenward. Less than ten minutes ago, we had all waved to his laughing figure as he had departed the upper foyer, intent to go home to his wife. Hesitantly, I stepped forward. Kneeling beside him, I tried in vain to find a pulse. My heart sank, there was nothing. As I stood once more my eyes shifted up to Damrosch, who searched me for some sign of hope, a sign I could not give him.

“No.” He gasped out. “How can this be? What happened?”

I cast my gaze for any sign of what might have occurred, some shadow fleeing in the distance. But the streets were deserted. No sign of the source of the close ranged gun shot which ended Wallbeck’s life prematurely, when it blew open the side of his neck. The streets were deserted aside from those of us who had only just been in the foyer. Despite the warm summer night air, Christine shivered in my arms, burying her face into the folds of my coat as I embraced her. Dismally, I replied, “I do not know, Damrosch. But the world has lost an incredible violinist.”

Attracted by the sound of the gunshot a policeman was swiftly approaching us. I let Damrosch sum up the evening’s events as I talked softly to Christine beside me. “It will be a little longer, my dear. No doubt the officer will require a full report.”

Her hands tightened on my coat. “I want to stay here with you. My God, who would want to kill Adam?”

I ran my hand through her tangled hair. “I was going to suggest you stay here with me. For now, for safety’s sake.”

“Erik.” Damrosch was still white with shock as he approached my side. “Can we use your office? He wants to talk with us about the evening.”

“Of course.” I gesture back inside the building. “Christine, you and Madame Damrosch should wait for us in the main foyer. This should not take long.” So I hoped. We left our wives as other police officers arrived to examine the scene. Retreating to the privacy of my office, I sat down behind my desk strewn with musical scores from the upcoming seasons we were planning. The officer and Damrosch each took a seat and began to go through the details of the night. Who was in attendance, what we had been drinking, how much. Nothing either of us could recall seemed to point to any known motive.

“I don’t understand.” Damrosch paced the room now. “Everybody liked Wallbeck.”

My fingers drew circles on the arm of my chair. “He was a jovial man, just a clerk with extraordinary talent on the violin. It was not a mugging as nothing was taken. Who would have wanted to do him harm?”

The officer finished his notes and closed the book with a sigh. “Hard to say, sadly incidences of this nature do happen and we never do find out who or why. But if we do find anything, I will be certain to let you both know as soon as possible. Likewise please report any new information that comes to light. Good night, Gentlemen.”

The door shut behind him with a click as Damrosch collapsed into the chair opposite my desk. “He’s dead. Adam Wallbeck is dead.”

Solemnly, I nodded. “Repeating the statement is not going to change the facts. It seems the Oratorio shall be needed for a funeral. A proper requiem setting shall have to be selected.”

Leaning on my desk he cried out. “Erik, our second chair violinist is dead! What are we going to do?”

Observing his bloodshot eyes, it became obvious that he was feeling the effects of the drinking. I did not shift from my pensive posture in the desk chair as I replied slowly. “Now is not the time for us to even consider that problem. It can safely be assured we have both had too much this evening. For now, let us leave the matter of Wallbeck’s murder to the police. On the matter of the Symphony, we will think of something when we both are sober. Come. The hour is beyond late and we should be returning to our respective homes.”

Reluctantly, he nodded as we rose from our chairs. Wordlessly, we entered the foyer to rejoin our wives. To the flicker of the streetlamps, I walked past the bloodstained cobblestones holding Christine tightly beneath my cloak. There was no stopping the vigilant sweep of my eyes as they searched every possible space for a threat. My manor was only two short blocks from Carnegie Hall, yet in the now ominous night, it felt infinitely further to the safety of my front door. It had been years since I had felt such dread walking through the kingdom of the night. I did not like this feeling at all.


	3. Chapter Three

_ **Chapter 3** _

_ **** _

The rays of afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows as I adjusted the gas flow of the burner sufficiently for the blue cone to strike the bottom of the water filled copper pot. It would take a while to come to a boil, leaving me time to drift about my laboratory and procure the items needed. A container of granulated starch, a bit of rubber, and some powdered sulfur to form a stretchy adhesive. These I measured out and dropped into the pot, letting the heat work its magic. A bolt of white silk had a permanent home in a cupboard in the corner. Beside it the last two items I needed; a bottle of clove oil and a spool of fine white cord.

Lying the bolt of fabric on the table, I rolled out a generous portion before sitting down to a task I could do without the aid of a pattern. Decades of making masks had resulted in a muscle memory that allowed me to simply slide a sharp blade with precision into the perfect shape; from the eye hole placement to the line that would conceal my deformed upper lip. Each silk mask required several layers to hold its shape and stand up to my level of activity. I had tried various fabrics, but the strength of the fibers and the light weight rendered silk the most suitable. The application of the clove oil prevented the concoction from rotting.

Giving the pot a thorough stir, I noted it was not yet reached a rolling boil. The rubber had to melt and distribute evenly. If not the mask would become too rigid and the inescapable chafing, worse.

Behind me the door opened and Christine bounded in with a letter in her hand. “Erik! Here you are! I’ve been searching everywhere for you. Look! Look what arrived today! Maestro Beaufont has sent me a personal invitation for the music festival he is hosting in August. He heard me sing at our anniversary concert two nights ago and wanted to send word before he left town.”She danced into my waiting arms, grasping the letter to her breast.

“That is wonderful news.” I leaned down to offer her a quick kiss she could barely hold still for. “That makes four invitations to sing upon stages other than Carnegie Hall in the next few months. You see, the world does on occasion show exquisite taste.”

Spinning away from me she threw her hands in the air, breathless with joy. “I never dreamed this would become a reality. Time after time being held back until … until … you set me free again. Every time I step upon a stage I feel so alive again. Now those busy bodies cannot say my place upon the stage is all because you are the director of the arts at the Hall.”

“You actually bother to listen to them?” I raised an unseen eyebrow behind my mask. “These honors you have earned by the merit of your own skill. The integrity of every piece of music upon that stage always take precedence for me.”

She blushed, glancing downward. “Which is why not every solo belongs to me, as my voice is not always the most suited.”

“Nor is my violin always playing the solo.” Shifting back to the boiling pot, I stirred the contents, my chest tightening a bit at the thought. Wallbeck and I had frequently traded the honors. No longer would I hear his talented fingers dancing on the strings behind me. It had been an under-appreciated pleasure.

Sliding up beside me, Christine lifted up one of the silk layers I had cut. “Is this how they start? I knew you must make them yourself, but I could never have guessed how you forced the flimsy silk to hold its shape.”

Clinging to the thread of topic, I pointed to the boiling concoction. “Over the years, I have refined the process, but it basically remains the same. Layer of fabric boiled in a paste placed over a form to dry. Each mask holds the shape for sometime until requiring a replacement. I always try to have quite a few on hand as they take days to make properly. The leather ones hold up best for the work sites, but I prefer the silk since it breathes better. Which reminds me, this leather one should be done.”

Leaning over the laboratory counter I slid a thin metal rod under the white leather that had dried upon the carved alabaster bust. I held up the finished product with a little admiration.

“That should do nicely.” There was a slight suppleness to the mask that had taken some experimentation in earlier attempts to achieve. I was about to try the new piece on when I caught Christine’s bewildered stare past me.

Taking a step closer, her hand reached out tentatively. “Erik, that is not just a statue.” Her eyes covered every detail before she cast her gaze upon me, searching, boring past the mask I wore. “That looks like you.”

Uncomfortably, I could only look away. “Perhaps … it is what I would have looked like … if there had been no need for these.” I tossed the new mask on the counter where it came to rest against the base.

Leaning forward her hands examined the features carved into the block of alabaster that had been a remnant from a project ages ago. For some ludicrous reason, I had chosen to capture in stone what I longed to resemble, a fully formed human being. Given how thin the malformed skin of my face was, the underlying bone structure for the sculpture had been readily available. Fleshing it out and setting the eyes at a proper depth, instead of my sunken set, added to it a feeling of dignified grace. Lips, real lips, not the distorted upper lip I had been cursed with. These well proportioned lips were capable of true expression. For the angle and the size of my nose, a feature I entirely lacked beyond the bone comprising the nasal bridge, I had based it upon the single portrait I possessed of my father. I had stumbled upon the portraits of my mother and father in the locket when I had returned to Boscherville, France with the intention to purchase and burn the house of my birth. And with it, some old demons that had still haunted me. That journey had brought me unexpectedly to the wake of my mother, who had passed on days before. The first time I had laid eyes upon the singular photo of my father had wrenched me to the core. I was astonished to find how handsome he had been. How had a man of such fine features sired such a hideous son? It was a mercy to him he had died before my birth.

Silence pervaded the room as I watched her devour the sculpted face before her. At last she drew back, still gazing in wonder. “No, no this is not you. This,” she whispered placing a hand on the statue, “this is cold stone, not living.” Her hand reached over to me, gently prizing off the mask I wore and setting it reverently upon the counter top. Her hands came up to caress my thin skin. “This is alive.”

“This is … unacceptable.” I reached out for the mask on the counter, a gesture her hand interrupted. In her stare, I spied a thread of pity forcing me to look down. Pity does no good for anyone. Do not pity me! I can’t stand it when people pity me. “Say what you will, it is the truth! As I was born, my repulsive appearance is offensive to the public.”

“What does an appearance matter?” She held tight to my hand even as I tugged toward the mask. “Your true virtues are the talents you possess. And the musical community holds you in high regard. That is what matters.”

I hung my head, murmuring, “I would trade it all, every last skill, just to have been born whole. To have a face with normal flesh I could reveal to the world. To not be locked behind the confines of a mask to save society from reeling back in horror. If I could have been born a humble man, to never rise out of that village, I swear I would have chosen it.”

Christine sat down upon a stool, resting a hand on my shoulder. “I recall a wise mentor of mine proclaiming that we are the result of our responses to the trials and tribulations the world throws at us. Tell me, Erik, should your wish have been granted would you and I have met?” She paused as her words passed through my mind. “If you had never left your village, never traveled the world, never become a great architect and master stone mason would we have crossed paths at the Paris Opera?”

Slowly blinking as it dawned upon me, I mused, “Would the Paris Opera have stood at all … Garnier would never have gotten over the technical difficulties of the project, let alone the disruption of the revolution. Had I not been lurking in the cellars all that time, when the government called for us to cease building, the drunken soldiers may have blown the whole thing into the heavens had I not moved their barrels of gunpowder.”

“You see?” She smiled softly. “You were driven there for a reason. Had you not sung to me through the mirror, my Angel of Music, I should never have possessed the courage to even approach the management for a role any greater than a chorus girl.” As she embraced me in a warm hug, I rested my head on hers, inhaling her sweet perfume. “Erik, physical beauty always fades. Every woman on this earth lives in mortal fear of that cold reality. Though society undervalues it, inner beauty is never tarnished by time. Within your heart lies a greater treasure than a face, no matter how flawless, could ever hope to outshine.”

I was rendered incapable of speech as she leaned back, her fingers tracing the lower edge of my deformity.

“Whether or not the world sees it, you were born whole.” She breathed out just enough to be heard. “Never trade your remarkable wonders for something ordinary. I love you, **all** of you.”

With a sadness even affection could not banish, I replied, “Can you convince the rest of the world that I should be allowed to show all of me?”

“You know as well as I do that is unlikely to happen.” Handing me the silk mask I had been wearing, she sighed, “If there was a way to teach society to see you as I do, I would trade anything to do so.”

Replacing the mask, I released a long breath before turning back to the boiling pot, giving the mixture a good stir. “And so I am to remain subjected to this fate.” It was ready. Dropping the silk layers in, I stirred the fabric letting it soak.

Lingering beside me, Christine observed me with idle curiosity. “Adam Wallbeck’s funeral is in a few days. I stopped by to call on his wife. She is devastated by the loss. He was a dear friend … now he’s gone.”

Pulling one of the silk layers from the mixture, I began to lay it with great care into place upon the bust. “I know. I can scarcely believe it myself.”

“Oh God Erik, don’t ever die!”

“My darling.” A brief chuckle escaped me at her sudden outburst. “I fear that fate is rather inevitable. I have yet to discover some elixir for immortality. Even if I had such knowledge … ”

I glanced over my shoulder in time to see her pick up the leather mask and stare forlornly at it. “You wouldn’t want to live forever, would you.”

My eyes closed tightly against the raw pain that hit me at that prospect. Too often throughout the harsh days of my life, I had longed for death’s release. More than once holding some potential means to end it myself within my hands. That was until I found Christine. “Perhaps, if things were different. But that truly is not something I have the power to change. Someday my dear, every one of us shall die. That is the price of living.”

I was about to pull out another layer of the silk when I turned to find her embracing me once more. “How long some of us wait to truly live, Erik. How much we waste only to be left with those questions of _what if_ … please, I can’t be left with that again.”

“My dear.” I ran my fingers through her hair hoping that I did not have any of the adhesive on them. “I fear the funeral is weighing heavily on your thoughts, as it is upon all of us. When I spoke with Damrosch earlier today, he was unsure if we should stay rehearsals for the time being or continue as Wallbeck likely would have wished. Please.” I plucked the letter from the counter holding it before her. “I believe our good friend would wish us not to shed tears for too long. I believe that with his lust for life he should wish us to find joy in our own where it is due.”

Her fingers gently took the letter back. “Then … we should live.” She smiled sadly. “Erik, we should truly live.”

* * * * *

The funeral procession from St. Patrick’s Old Cathedral was somber as ever beneath the leaden sky. We were a silent black river flowing through the streets on the short journey to what would be Adam Wallbeck’s final resting place. Mozart’s Requiem had been sung by the Oratorio Society, accompanied by the Symphony Society. The masterful setting echoed gloriously in the vaulted interior of the Gothic cathedral despite the tight fit of both groups. I was grateful for the task of playing my violin during the Mass. The unnerving feeling pervaded that, though I had been raised a Catholic, this was the first time I had attended a Mass inside a church. As a child, I had not been allowed to accompany my mother to church, all my instruction was conducted in our home. Long ago having discarded the practice, I had crossed the thresholds of various places of worship throughout my life purely to examine the architecture. They were buildings, just structures of stone and glass. Yet, inside there was always some vague sense that I was unwelcome, unworthy to enter. I had never quite been able to reconcile with God over the state of my birth and the misfortunes that accompanied my life. Today I had made a momentary truce to honor a very talented musician.

Crossing the Bowery we made our way around to the 2nd street entrance of New York Marble Cemetery, a narrow alleyway guarded by two iron gates that typically were locked. Led by Damrosch and I, the members of the Societies drifted into what appeared to be an empty yard surrounded by a snowflake marble wall bedecked with plaques. A flood of black pooled into the yard, awaiting the arrival of our departed friend.

The wind stirred my cloak as the clouds threatened to cry in mimicry of the sorrow below them. My hands grasped behind my back, I drifted along the wall reading the names on the plaques: James, Henry F., and Charles B. Tallmadge; Charles H. Marshall and Edward A. Russell; George Douglas … there were one hundred and fifty six plaques in all lining the walls around the cemetery.

Quietly, Damrosch leaned over in a whispered conversation, “How can this be a cemetery? This is just a grass lawn. Where are the headstones, the monuments?”

Keeping my voice respectfully low, I replied, “There is more here than you would believe. Not individual graves, but rows of marble vaults beneath your feet. One for each plaque on the wall.”

Casting his gaze around the walls, he started. “Good Lord!” He gasped. “Erik, how did you know that?”

“I’ve seen them.”

Incredulously, he looked up at me before his gaze fell to his feet. “You’ve been in them? Standing in them? Why?”

Pausing against the wall, I pointed at the row of plaques. “Because I was selecting where my bones would be interred. They happened to have the vault open from a recent burial, and they granted my request to view one of the crypts.” For a moment, I let my hand linger there before dropping it to my side. “However, now I shall require a different resting place.”

He cocked his head. It was a long moment before he gazed back at the gateway where the stream of people still entered the iron gates. Astonished, he whispered, “You gave Wallbeck your place in the vault?”

I nodded slowly. My eyes searched the crowd to find his widow sobbing in the arms of my wife. “He was so young. New to his career. Undoubtedly plans had not been made for his passing. It was the least I could do, to relieve the cost of a burial site from her burdens.”

“Erik, this must have been quite an investment.”

I lifted my shoulders in a slow shrug. It did not matter, I had the means to secure another place within the vaults. With my run of good health, I was certain I had plenty of time to do so. When that inevitable time did come, Christine would have the means to ensure my burial without any financial distress. For Wallbeck’s widow that was not the case at all. Her situation having become apparent to me when Christine dug her own mourning clothes out of the wardrobe after she learned that the bereaved owned nothing suitable and could not afford the attire. Fortunately, their builds were similar enough.

The last of the mourners entered the gate. From my vantage point, I could see Wallbeck’s casket as the pallbearers lifted it from the back of the hooded wagon. Adam Wallbeck, my friend, you were taken too soon from this earth. Never again would his spirited playing paint pictures of sound in the air. Never again would his cheeky grin turn to me in a challenge. Never again would I hear the tones of his violin locked in precise harmony with mine. I had been waiting for this moment for my personal tribute to the passing of his soul. Damrosch gave a start as he turned to find my Stradivarius now tucked under my chin. Bringing the bow up to the strings I let the melody tremble in the air, the haunting swell of _Libera Me_ from my own requiem setting. The bitter sweet notes lingered in the air as the sea of black stood in a stoic vigil witnessing the procession of our belated friend across the entire length of graveyard. I mourned him in song, each note a tear I could not let fall. I felt the wind buffeting my cloak, stirring the fabric into flight around my shoulders as my tenor voice sang out in the traditional Latin.

 _Libera me, Domine, de morte æterna, in die illa tremenda,_  
Quando cœli movendi sunt et terra,  
Dum veneris iudicare sæculum per ignem.  
Tremens factus sum ego, et timeo, dum discussio venerit, atque ventura ira,  
Quando cœli movendi sunt et terra.  
Dies illa, dies iræ, calamitatis et miseriæ, dies magna et amara valde,  
Dum veneris iudicare sæculum per ignem.  
Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine: et lux perpetua luceat eis.

In the days before the funeral, I had pondered for some time which selection from the Mass setting I had written would be appropriate. For some reason the _Libera Me_ continued to come to mind, the meaning of those pleading words not lost upon me:

Deliver me, O Lord, from death eternal on that fearful day,  
when the heavens and the earth shall be moved,  
when thou shalt come to judge the world by fire.  
I am made to tremble, and I fear, till the judgment be upon us, and the coming wrath,  
when the heavens and the earth shall be moved.  
That day, day of wrath, calamity, and misery, day of great and exceeding bitterness,  
when thou shalt come to judge the world by fire.  
Rest eternal grant unto them, O Lord: and let light perpetual shine upon them.

The final notes of the reverent hymn hung in the air as the casket entered into the small marble building in the southwest corner of the yard. The Dead-House, it was called. Two small barred windows set high in the walls allowed for some ventilation while a heavy wooden door prevented access to the body as they awaited interment. To access the vault required digging down over three and a third meters below the ground to locate the access slab that sealed off each pair of vaults. This affair would be conducted after we had departed.

In the silence that followed, I lowered my violin to the sound of quiet sniffling. Interrupted sobs punctuated the crowd. As though entranced, hardly anyone shifted for sometime. Fellow musicians and beloved friends, our eyes remained fixed upon the humble rough stone walls that held his body for the time being. Leaving Damrosch locked in his own thoughts, I drifted toward where Christine remained, supporting the sobbing widow on her shoulder.

My wife let her dry eyes greet me, as she allowed the torrent of tears to soak the shoulder of her dress. It was a gift she possessed, some innate sense of what a wounded soul needed. Sometimes it was merely silence, just a quiet presence when mere words could provide nothing.

Widow Wallbeck lifted her head off Christine’s shoulder, her tear-stained eyes turned up to find me. Releasing my wife’s shoulder, she staggered toward me, collapsing into my arms in her grief. “Oh God, Erik! He’s gone! How can he be gone? The angel came and took him away, I heard the song carrying his soul to heaven. I heard the angel sing to his soul.” Her fingers dug into the fabric of my coat, pressing wrinkles into the light wool.

Ever so gently I embraced her. The poor child was so grief-stricken at the loss of her husband. She needed some comfort, even in the form of a lie. “Yes.” Careful not to employ the full power of my influential voice, I let the tone carry just enough to tease into her consciousness. “Yes, I know that the angel came for him. Your beloved husband is now resting in peace.” If I wanted to, I could make this whole event seem like the remnant of some bad dream … but it would not change the fact that Wallbeck was gone. I would be wiser to only remove the biting edge and leave her to a natural mourning.

The tight grip on my sleeve loosened ever so slightly. “It was so beautiful. The music of heaven itself. The angel, the angel played a violin just as my darling Adam had.”

“Truly he was worthy of the honor.” I drew her chin up, bringing her gaze in line with my own. “If you have need of anything, simply ask. Your husband was a cherished friend of mine and I shall not see you in want.”

She shivered as her eyes once more strayed to the stone house. “Would you see me home, now?”

Christine gently took her hand. “Of course. We can take our carriage.” Edging toward the gate, she glanced over her shoulder at me with a somber expression. I followed, casting one final glance at the wooden door. Farewell ….


	4. Chapter Four

_ **Chapter 4** _

_ **** _

Fluid, like water rippling down the gentle slope of a foothill, the supporting sweep of the cello line poured out onto the measures of the vellum. Within my head danced the elaborate melodies of the split violin sections with the complimenting viola line. The cellos provided the vibrant heart beat of the composition, while the violins competed in a series of spirited counterpoints. I had yet to bestow a name on this challenging composition, a suitable one had not yet presented itself. This very issue was hardly a concern as I had yet to even begin to add the brass and woodwinds in support of the string’s tightly woven matrix. In the flickering candlelight I leaned back, waving the quill grasped in my left hand like a baton, letting the most recently scrawled measures play through my mind. The red dots on the red inked bass clef spoke volumes more then simple tone and beat.

With a wistful smile, I let my mind venture onward into the next empty measure on the page, deciding precisely how each note would interact with the ones I had previously written. Beside me lay a short stack of pages, the other string parts for the composition. Satisfied, I dipped the quill in the ink pot and set the notes in their proper placement. Music could be seen. Such an odd thing, to gaze upon the notes with a skill akin to reading. After all, print on pages was nothing more simple letters that, on their own, bear no true meaning. However, combine them with others and suddenly the ability of expression is endless. I was truly in my element, engaged in a task that captured my attention completely. The world around me ceased to exist as I inhabited one of my own creation. My kingdom. The world of music.

Of course this time of night the outside world practically ceased all activity. Beyond the open balcony doors of my study, the moon cast her silver rays over the darkened city. Most people were abed by now as I diligently burned the midnight oil. Taking a sip of my Russian tea, I reminded myself there was only enough for one more cup. A large dish of various salted nuts was just within my reach. This section of the composition seemed to be forming to the cadence of my constant nibbling. I glanced at the pages of the cello part, noting that I was nearly at the bottom of the final page. This was why I enjoyed the quiet hours of the night. No disturbing carriages trotting past my house, no screaming children playing in Central Park across the street. The world was awash in the stillness of sleep when only the creatures of the night came out to play.

The next resolution came to me as an epiphany. Leaning back in my chair, I hummed the gentle cascade of the notes … ah yes, the note combination would be exquisitely graceful and yet pulse with power until it ended with a—ear splitting scream!

  
My eyes snapped open at the hysterical sound issuing forth from my bedchamber. Instincts drove my hand to the closest weapon at my disposal. I discarded the quill for the short delicate blade of a letter opener. Well, it may not have been a long blade, but anything could be lethal with sufficient force. So swiftly did I fling myself around the desk that my hand struck the pot of red ink, sending it rolling across the vellum. Ink splashed up onto my hand as I tore headlong for the door. The bedchamber window may have been a full story from ground level, but that did not mean it was inaccessible, and due to the steamy summer nights it had been wide open. If someone was hurting my wife, they were about to have a very bad fall from my balcony!

I pushed open the door with the miniature blade held _en garde_. In the dark shadows of the unlit bedchamber, she lay pitching and writhing in the tangle of the sheets … alone! Thank heavens, it wasn’t some murderer stalking in the night that troubled my love. “Christine.” I called out softly to her. “Christine, wake up.”

Her eyes flickered open for a moment before they fixed on my silhouette cast in the gleam of the candlelight from the study. Jerking back in renewed terror she screamed, drawing back to the far edge of bed and shielding her eyes in defense.

The bead of ink tickled the hair on the back of my hand, drawing sudden attention to the source of her bewildering response. It was then that I realized I was still presenting the short blade with hands dripping in red ink. “Darling! Shh! It is ink, just ink!” Reaching to the table outside the door I procured the lit candle, letting the light pour over me as I hastily walked back into the room. Discarding the letter opener on the nightstand, I set the candle down beside it before grabbing a nearby towel to rub off the ink from my hands. Now able to touch things without leaving crimson prints everywhere, I climbed onto the bed and wrapped my arms around her trembling form. “It is alright, Christine. You are shaking like a leaf. Shh. Easy now.”

Her hands clung to me, leaving the impression that if she loosened her hold she would fall a great distance. With her eyes shut tightly, she sobbed into the fold of my satin robe, drenching it with her panicked tears. Rhythmically, I drew my hand down the back of her head, just allowing her to come out of the dream with the reassurance I was there. I said nothing more, just let her cling to my presence and anchor herself back in reality. Gradually her sobbing ebbed, her face lifted from the dampness of my robe. “It was terrible—”

Holding a finger to her lips I shook my head calmly. “Not yet, my child. Come, out to the study, I have a cheery blaze going in the fireplace and I shall pour you some tea. No. I insist.” Without letting her protest further, I slid off the bed and bid her to follow me.

My arm wrapped around her shoulders as she sniffled. “I’m a mess.”

I laughed softly. It took a force of great will to overcome the urge to glance over at the disaster I knew was upon my desk. “You had quite a fright, my dear. Now, sit down on the couch by the fire and I will be right with you.” As I withdrew, her hand seized mine tighter, wrought with desperation. “Christine, I will not be but across the room. Relax, my child.” Reluctantly, she untangled her fingers from mine, releasing me to prepare a cup of tea for her. I did not dare go down to the kitchen for the cream she preferred, and so instead used the fresh lemon I had on hand for myself. Sitting down beside her, I placed the cup in her hands before she nestled into the crook of my arm, seeking security. I let her do what she needed, as I slid my left arm over her shoulder, my fingers tangling in the messy curls of her long hair. “When you have finished the cup will be the time to tell me what happened.”

Her eyes shifted to glance at me as she sipped the steaming tea. I could feel the tension ebbing as she continued to wake from the nightmare. To the crackling of the fireplace we watched the flames flickering while she drained the cup.

When she finished, I set the cup aside and smiled at her. “Better now?”

Her hand reached up and caught mine, holding it tightly. “Erik, it was terrible. I never want to feel that again!”

“Feel what?”

She laid her head on my chest, once more her hands gripping me fiercely. “The terror of loneliness.”

That was a little unexpected. I cocked my head curiously so as to be able to observe her better, but her gaze was cast downward. “I saw it happen! They came out of nowhere, in the middle of the night bearing torches and chains. They screamed the most horrid of things before they seized you, took you away from me. When I chased down the crowd, it had already begun. Oh God Erik! You were covered in blood, screaming in pain from the wounds they inflicted on you. I tried to make them stop, but they cast me aside, threatened to kill me—the wife of the Phantom of the Opera! You deserved the shameful death for all your crimes against humanity, they said. At last, through with their terrible deed, they withdrew and I held you in my arms … what was left. Erik, it hurt so much. I was so alone, so wrought with despair. Everything was torn from me in that moment, even the will to live!”

For a very long moment I had no voice with which to speak, for deep in my heart I was all too familiar with the feeling she described. Many a year of my lengthy existence, that had been my constant state of mind til I had given up on ever finding a shred of true meaning. Decades of my life I spent feeling hounded by those who felt a desire to destroy anything they feared different. I had been a bitter and lost soul. Now I was a changed man. Forcing back the raw memories that would not aid her any, I had to be the strong one now and those painful emotions would only fetter my ability to reassure her. I shook my head. “It was a nightmare, nothing more. This was likely inspired by Wallbeck’s recent funeral, that poor soul. I daresay you are likely not the only one troubled by his untimely passing.”

“Still no answers from the police?”

I sighed. “No, not likely to be any after this much time.” I had sent my own informants in search of rumors only to have all their attempts turn up dry. There was no whisper, even in the darkest of alleys, of why anyone should have desired the death of Adam Wallbeck.

Rubbing my hand with her fingers, she tried and failed to suppress a shudder. “That’s what frightens me the most, the possibility that someone might wish harm upon you.”

“Answer me this, what year is it?”

She blinked up at me, clearly uncertain of why I was asking. “1896.”

Untangling my fingers from hers, I drew a little distance away so we could see each other. “And what was the last year I haunted the Paris Opera house?”

“1881, what does that have to do with anything?”

I chuckled softly. “It has been fifteen years since the last time the Opera Ghost was known to be alive, as ridiculous as such a notion of a living ghost is. An entire ocean separates us from France in addition to the time that has passed without a similar event transpiring.” I tugged on one of her curls before letting it spring back into place. “No one knows my identity here save you, Nadir, and Carnegie who has been sworn to secrecy on the matter. So, as you can see, there is no reason for you to even consider such an event as a potential reality.”

She shivered as she bowed her head. “It still frightened me.”

“Christine.” I held out my hand in front of her, a small piece of paper appearing there by a quickly executed sleight of hand. “You see this? I want you to concentrate all that fear, all that dread, that entire scenario and place it right here in my hand. Right within this paper.” I watched as she curiously cocked her head to the side. But for a long moment she closed her eyes and concentrated before at last opening them to gaze once more at the benign object. “Have you done it?” When she nodded in reply, I snapped my fingers and the paper ignited in a bright flare to vanish in my now empty hand. It was a simple, but stunning effect brought about by treating the paper in a special soaking of agents, a secret I had picked up in the orient. “All gone. Not a worry or a care.”

She smiled as her head fell back against my shoulder. “That trick was better before you showed me the secret.”

“How many times have I mentioned that magic is far more impressive before the curtain of the illusion is lifted.” I sighed with a relieved smile. That had been my intention, just to get her smiling once more even if it was through a shameless trick.

“And I once thought you a true magician, capable of real magic.” Her hands idly played with the hem of my robe. “Before I learned that it is all an act of deception.”

“Hey.” I protested in mock insult. “There is a lot of distinguished art and practice that goes into the work of illusions. You make it sound so … ordinary. Besides, you asked to be shown and I warned you about being disillusioned.”

At my expense, she laughed into her hand. “Erik, I didn’t mean to insult you.”

“No.” I grinned back with a haughty wink. “You think it is so easy, that just anyone could do it? Alright, how about we see you try it.”

Shaking her head, she blushed. “No, my love. Your hands are much swifter than mine. I confess I could never begin to approach the feats of dexterity. I would probably burn the house down trying.”

Sitting up a little straighter, I scoffed. “You think I would let you play with fire for the first trick? No, my dear. Something far simpler.” With a wave of my fingers a small coin appeared and just as quickly vanished.

She yawned. “I’m too sleepy to even try.” Reaching up, she pulled my masked face closer to hers. “Please come back to bed with me, Erik, instead of working on … ” Her eyes took in the red ink that stained my fingers, growing wide the moment she recalled my only use for the red ink—which had nothing to do with my well-balanced ledger. “Oh no!” Rising to her feet, she cast her worried gaze to the desk where the now ruined sheets of vellum lay, stained with the splattering of ink. The color left her face. “The score you’ve been working on … what have I done?”

I rose and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “It is alright. If I have written it once I can just as easily write it again.” It wasn’t quite that simple, from my stolen glance I gathered at least four of the large sheets had fallen victim to my startled reflex. This was the work of the last three nights after the house had fallen silent, the only hours I could make the time to work on _my_ music around my heavy contracting schedule. But the last thing I desired now was to trouble her with such knowledge. She had hardly screamed with the deliberate intention of destroying my efforts to compose. Turning her face to look up at me, I leaned down and kissed her tenderly. “Go on now, into bed with you. I shall clean things up and be in momentarily.”

Mournfully she cast one last glance at the mess on the desk. “I’m so sorry.”

“Having a nightmare excuses you from guilt and the need to apologize. I promise I will be in shortly.” I gently coaxed her in the direction of our bedchamber, waiting for her to pass through the threshold before I dared to truly gaze at the ink stained pages of the cello part strewn across the desk. My heart stuck in my throat as I saw how the rogue ink had utterly abolished the once distinct notes that had been painstakingly placed on the staves.

I fought very hard not to release even the faintest sound of frustration, lest she overhear. The pages were ruined, illegible from the staining. I tipped the ink pot back upright and capped in what little remained. I would need to make a trip to the market for more ink now. Gathering up the stained pages I carried them to the fireplace and with a final breath tossed them into the blaze. The inspired work of stolen hours curled and crisped to black ashes in the hearth under my pained gaze. Employing the poker, I shifted the logs to let the fire dwindle before drawing the guard across it for the night.

Crestfallen, I was trying to recover from this feeling before I even dared to enter the room. One by one, I turned off the gas supply to the wall sconces that lit my vast study on the way back to the bedchamber. The shadows followed me as I carried a single candle. Many homes had been wired for electrical lights in this age. I still preferred the kinder light of the flame. Releasing one final sigh before I passed through the door, I tried to let go of all the tension that had bound me. The pressure of the contract demands from Shadowcrest alone were enough to trigger my foul temper. I had been burning the midnight oil just to keep up with the alterations. The short hours I stole to work on my music had been the balance to that stress, the release of that tension. It was when I let myself get lost in the inner corridors of my imagination to reconnect to the intangible world within my mind. The candle trembled in my hand as I mourned the premature death of my activity. There was nothing to be done. If she needed my presence she would have it, whatever the cost.

Christine had moved the first candlestick to her own nightstand where the flame flickered peacefully, casting her features in a soft low-light relief. Setting my candle on my own nightstand, I divested myself of the robe and flung it unceremoniously upon a chair in the corner before climbing into the four poster bed with the ornately carved tester overhead. Her eyes watched my every motion as I pulled back the covers and slid in beside her, removing the mask to place it beside the candle on the nightstand where I would have need of it in the morning.

Facing her, I was about to pull the covers up when her hand reached across the expanse to press against my exposed ribs. Delicate fingers settled into the depressions between the bones. Due to my body insisting on being so infernally thin, there was no fat to be found there, just sinewy muscle stretched over the bones. A rogue finger traced the old knife wound scar between two of my ribs. As I watched her gentle hands, the glimmer of a tear flickered in the flame’s light. I reached forward and banished it from existence.

“I can’t believe anyone would have done that to you.” She gazed up at me, sorrow in her eyes. “My God, Erik, you were just a child. They were people from the village of your birth. Did they not know any better?”

Offering as much of a shrug as I could while lying on my right side, I replied distractedly. “Boscherville was not particularly well known for being accepting. Not to mention my mother hardly handled my upbringing with much enlightenment. It is little wonder, a village that rarely saw the boy kept under lock and key, reacted as they did when I was discovered out in the yard that night. Have no doubt, I still have not quite forgiven the extremity of their intent to kill me. The years have only leant me a begrudged understanding of that perspective.” I laid my head back on the pillow as I reluctantly continued. “After all, how can I expect the world to have no reaction when I cannot even look upon myself without cringing.”

Her hand reached around my shoulder and pulled me closer, I did not resist. Instead, my right hand settled on the silk nightgown covering small of her back resting. Ever so gently, I nestled her up beside me, feeling her breath’s caress on my chest. “The world is not fair.”

Laughing softly, I drew my finger along the lace. “My dear, no sane person ever promised it would be. Thus, we as mere mortals are deigned to take what little we can in this short trying life we are presented with. I regret all the time I wasted.”

“If I had been braver sooner … ” She nestled her head beneath my chin, as close as she could get.

“Do not be so hard on yourself, Angel. That statement actually applies to myself as well.”

“You’re trying to make me feel better.” Her hand once more found the old scar, but I suspected this time it wasn’t a conscious motion as she stroked the contours.

“Nonsense.” I sighed. “It is true. For too long I denied how much of a coward I had been, sneaking around, lurking in shadows, existing without truly existing. Decades of my life literally went by, where my own lack of courage to face the world I should have been living in kept me from actually having a life. All that time and I had never acknowledged what a sham it had all been.” I laid a finger under her chin and brought her gaze up to meet mine. “That was until you changed everything when you forced me to face reality. You have no idea how much I respect you for that bravery.”

The eyes that before were shadowed in fear now were cast in the weariness that betrayed imminent sleep. She was fighting a losing battle in my arms. Sheepishly, she smiled. “You call it bravery, I call it love. I saw you for what you are.” Her fingers now traced my lips. “No matter what the world says, you are not a monster. You are an angel come to earth and you saved me.”

“Well now.” I laughed teasingly, “and people have called _me_ insane. So, I am a heavenly angel.”

“Erik!” Those eyes, previously near to sleep, widened up on me in mock anger up. “You shouldn’t jest about such things! I mean it! You know I love you.”

“Shh,” Bringing my hand up, I let a finger rest on her lips to quell her reprimand. “And you know I love you. Now, your eyes are telling me you should be resting.”

Settling tightly against my body, she remarked. “I won’t wake to find the bed empty in a few hours?”

“I will be here when you wake.” I leaned forward to kiss the top of her head. “No one, and no power on this earth can take me from your side.”

The steady tick of the clock marked the passage of time as I felt her form relax in my embrace. Once her breathing entered the state of deep slumber I reached down and pulled the covers up. The candle on Christine’s nightstand had already burned down and extinguished itself. The one on mine was nearly gone as well. With a yawn, I settled down into the mattress and let my eyes close to the soft chorus of the crickets and tree frogs from Central Park. I was already in bed, might as well get some rest while I could.

* * * * *

“Erik?”

My eyes cracked open to find the darkened room, beside me Christine’s slumbered breathing assured me she was still locked deeply in sleep’s embrace. Had I heard my name? Or was it some remnant from a dream.

“Erik?” The whisper stole through the night air once more and I instantly placed the source. With a sigh, I snatched my mask from the nightstand before tossing the covers back and climbing out of bed to the question, “Are you awake?”

“I am now!” I growled quietly as I entered to find Nadir standing in the middle of the darkened study.

The aged Persian, a rather odd acquaintance of my past, had been bound to me through fate. I owed him far too much than I could ever truly repay for sparing my life when he had been ordered by the shah to end it. The cost for him had been dear, even to this day I do not comprehend why this curious man had let such a selfish murdering thief go free. He claimed it was because his conscience would not permit him to destroy my innate genius. I swear it is more aligned with how much he enjoyed trying to achieve the impossible. For decades now, he had appointed himself my living conscience, forcing me to behave. A considerable task, even when I was on my best behavior. Though I did enjoy his company as one who was privy to some of my darker days, I found his sense of morality rather annoying when he chose to employ his tongue to express it.

“By Allah.” His dark eyes widened as I groggily entered the room. “You were actually sleeping?”

“Yes.” I smirked. “For once I was _actually_ sleeping, during the night. Try not to faint on my account. What the devil do you want at this hour?”

Nadir shook his head, clearly astonished. “I do not believe my senses. Erik, you rarely sleep.”

Waving a hand in the air in annoyance, I strode across the room to light a kerosene lamp on my desk. “Yes yes, how terribly observant you are. Now tell me how many years it took you to obtain this knowledge? Did you wake me just to inquire?”

Giving a little start, he shook his head. “No. I had been woken by the bell. There was a delivery for you, marked urgent.” In his hands was the envelope from a telegram.

I rolled my eyes before roughly seizing the paper with a sigh. “What could he want now?”

The reply was one word. “Carnegie?”

Holding the paper in the light on the desk I scanned the contents and silently translated the nonsense phrases through the code Carnegie always used to secure his correspondence. “Do you know anyone else in Scotland?” I replied tersely.

He leaned on the desk shaking his head in disapproval. “The nerve of him sending notes at such hours of the night!”

“It is hardly the middle of the night in Scotland, Nadir.” Glancing around the room in search of a bottle of wine, I discovered my closest was over on the piano. “Damn it.” Noting the target of my search, my friend snatched the bottle and brought it over to me without a word. He was about to fetch me a glass when I sliced a hand through the air. “Do not bother, I will break my own rule tonight and drink from the bottle. Besides, it is nearly empty.”

“Erik,” He was bewildered. “Are you feeling alright? You always use a glass and berate me if I employ the wrong one.”

Taking a swig from the bottle of red wine, I set it down and rubbed my temples. “I am fine, just half awake and dearly wishing that Carnegie would stop this dreadful high stake game before a disaster occurs. Can he not spare a moment to answer a single question about his studio tower project on the hall? No, instead he has to fret and go on about this insane venture to buy the president!”

“What? Erik, I did not hear you correctly, did I?”

I leaned back in the chair, casting my eyes up at the Persian. “You did not hear me say it _at all_ , Daroga. Is that clear? Apparently I **am** half awake to have let that slip.”

Leaning on the desk, Nadir fixed me with a searching glare. “No words escape this room. But you can’t leave it there. Buying the president? Can it even be done?”

I gestured toward the wire. “Morgan, Rockefeller, and Carnegie believe it can be. And honestly, yes, so do I. I do not agree with the game they are playing, even to my skewed morality their hunger for power just to ensure that they can continue running their business as usual seems insane.” Though I greatly respected Andrew Carnegie, he and I differed considerably when it came to business strategy. His bottom line was to ruthlessly cut cost to the utmost extent possible. Often this meant paying the lowest wages to men who had no choice but to comply. I, on the other hand, purchased the loyalty of my handpicked crews by ruthlessly culling any worker under my high standards and paying those I kept exceptionally well for their continued service. Of course, Carnegie wasn’t working behind a mask as I was forced to. He did not hold a reputation for being eccentric that caused some to shy away. The offset of my standards meant that Shadowcrest was known for extraordinary quality of workmanship. “Consider this, my dear friend. The issue is so desperate as to unite three bitter rivals under one cause. I have told you how Carnegie loathes Rockefeller.”

“Everyone knows of their rivalry.” He waved a hand. “But still, how can one buy a president? This is a democracy, people vote through a system.”

I chuckled dryly. “Nothing is more corrupt then government, men in powerful positions who believe they are beyond reproach. Surely your years in the Persian courts, which far outnumbered my brief stay, have demonstrated this to you?”

“To do this would take unfathomable resources.” He protested.

Taking another deep swallow of the wine as I mulled over the contents of the telegram, I replied calmly. “Say the fortunes of the three wealthiest men in the country who stand to lose millions if the proposed laws go into effect.”

Leveling his gaze at me, he spat out. “You’re not getting involved are you?”

“Had you been listening you would have heard me state that I do not agree with their game. I am no more involved than simply advising Carnegie.”

Tossing his hands into the air, my friend spun away laughing in dark humor. “That is the most amusing thing I have heard in ages! Carnegie taking advice from a renowned thief. Tell me Erik, how many rich men will you steal from after working for them? Do you still have the immense diamond from the shah’s council room throne that I found you prying out with your dagger?”

“You know very well I do, and you know very well that I mounted it in my ballroom. Lest you forget the shah wished to steal my head from my shoulders. Oh, wait a moment, did you not tell me he first thought putting my eyes out was sufficient to render me useless to others before changing his mind? And where was he going to display my head once it was removed? He was such a generous employer to have selected such a prominent location in his garden.”

Nadir protested. “You stole the diamond from him the first time you set foot in the palace. Do you have any idea how nearly I had come to a heart attack for knowing that I was made responsible for all your actions in the court?”

“The first mistake was in your acceptance of such an arrangement. The second was allowing me so easily to slip from under your _watchful eye_. After all, had I not already demonstrated my dexterity for your very eyes on the road to Persia?”

“Deplorable pick-pocket!” He sneered.

I dismissed the remark. “Besides, I have stolen nothing from Carnegie, except perhaps his unearned trust.”

“And his music hall.” He cast me an accusing glare.

Pointing a finger at him, I replied firmly. “That was a gift between friends!”

A long moment of silence stretched out before he cracked a grin and laughed. “You are delusional.”

“And you are fortunate to be one of the few who is permitted to say that of me in jest and not pay for it with his life. Now … I need to word my reply.” The span of three more drinks of wine had my response which I proceeded to jot down on the page before folding and sealing it. If Carnegie insisted upon proceeding with this fracas, at least I could assist him in keeping it as concealed as possible from public scrutiny. Taking out a few coins from the drawer I pushed the reply toward him. “If you would, deliver this to the telegraph office right away, please instruct them that it is urgent.”

Cocking his head curiously, he laughed. “I am not some footman or a butler to be used at your disposal.”

Folding my hands on my lap, I smiled at the irony of it all. “You believe so, do you? Let me ask you Nadir, who insisted that I have servants to care for my household?”

“This is hardly a _house_ , Erik. You constructed a full mansion that cannot possibly be cared for by a single man. Not even you.”

I nodded, moving on to the next point. “Do you own this said mansion?”

“No.” He laughed. “Don’t be absurd. You built and own _Clef de Voute Manoir_.”

“Correct.” I held up a hand. “What do you do for a living?”

“Erik.” Nadir shook his head. “What does any of this have to do wi—”

“Answer me.” I said patiently, biding my time.

“I am retired from working much after having left Persia, you know all this. In general I look after things around here, which keeps me quite occupied I might add.”

It still didn’t occur to him where I was going with this. “Who orders the servants around?” I gestured to him before going on. “Who answered the door at … ” I glance at the clock on the mantle “… five in the morning?”

“Me … on both accounts.” A shrug accompanied his bland reply.

“That makes you my butler.”

“Erik!” He started indignantly. “Wensleydale is the butler! Do not be ridiculous!”

“Who is being ridiculous?” I drained the last dregs from the wine bottle. “You admit that you live in my house, organize my staff, and assist me in my affairs. Well, now … sounds remarkably close to what a butler facilitates. So, after nearly fifteen years, I have finally found a use for you. You should be proud!”

With a sound of disgust, he snatched the envelope with the coins from the desk and glared down at me. “Then I shall expect a raise!”

Throwing my head back, I burst into laughter.

“You find it amusing, do you? What happens if I refuse to do your bidding some day?” He glowered.

Leaning back, I replied smugly. “Then I shall have to find some other man to employ as the whining voice that keeps my mischievous hands out of trouble. After all, you are always pointlessly fretting there will be another night like in Paris despite how many times I remind you that Carnegie Hall does not have a chandelier to drop. That mantra is getting rather antiquated.”

His eyes softened a little as a chuckle escaped him. “You do not require a chandelier to cause a disaster, Erik.” For a moment, he was quiet, reflective before a tentative thought wandered out. “Have you ever wanted to go back to France? Ever longed to go back to Paris?”

“What a ridiculous notion.” I scoffed. “Likewise idiocy dwells in me asking you if you ever longed to return to the courts of Tehran. Yes, Nadir, the once Daroga of Mazanderan, why not return to the provinces where we are awaiting death and punishment only narrowly escaped on both accounts. Such fond memories; the burned and scorched remains of the Paris Opera House for me, and the wretched Persian prisons for you.”

He heaved a weary sigh. “Who would remember us after so many years?”

Getting to my feet, I shrugged. “Not a chance I am willing to take. You, my friend, may be quite forgettable. I, on the other hand, seem to make a lasting impression where ever I traveled.” Casting my gaze to the slightly open bed chamber door, I felt my throat tighten in a pang of fear. “And now I have something to live for and I stand far too much to lose.”

Christine and Persia, why were those two threads suddenly tied together? There was something involving Nadir that I needed to do. Oh yes!

“Speaking of Persia.” I walked around the corner of my desk to stand beside the shorter statured man. “Do you still have your court robes?”

His eyebrows knit in confusion. “Yes, though I have no idea why I bothered to keep them. They were of no use in France nor here.”

With a chuckle, I laid a hand on his shoulder. “They actually are. Would you be so kind as to wear something from your collection on Friday night to Carnegie Hall? One of the plainer ones should suffice. I have need of you for a little performance.”

Curiosity hung in his eyes before it was dashed with suspicion. “For the Symphony Society?”

I shook my head. “No, a local dance troupe requested a special performance involving myself and Christine.”

“Why does this suddenly involve me?” Taking a step back, he was studying me as I appraised him.

A slow smile crossed my lips. “You will be perfect.”


	5. Chapter Five

_ **Chapter 5** _

_ **** _

“Parry and lunge.” The marble ballroom echoed with the shuffled steps of the practiced routine. The elegant dance floor had only actually been used for its intended purpose once, for the small reception after my wedding. Today it saw a rather different form of dance as I instructed Charles in fencing. Beside him he looked a mirror of my stance, the foils held in opposite hands as I called out the drill positions. His foil flashed through the air, grasped tightly in his right hand, a little too tightly.

“Ease up your grip, Son. Remember, the grip is less effective if it is stiff.” My own foil swung through the air at an imaginary opponent manipulated into a swift snap into final position by the fingers of my left hand. “Give your opponent a little ground, then take it in at the last moment. The misdirection requires flexibility.”

Charles nodded, before executing the move, his time his fingers playing off the back of the hilt until the last moment. He shut his grip like a trap and the end of the blade followed the motion carrying through into the parried lunge.

“Better.” I held up a hand and my son remained in the lunge. With my blade gliding beneath his I remarked. “A minute motion on the hilt has a greater effect on the blade. Observe where the tip lands. Had you kept the strangled grip, it should have been here. Note how much more maneuverability it lends? Always remember the wrist and arm are the power, the fingers are your aim.”

Studying the angles I had shown him, he shook his head. “It seems counter-intuitive. I want to just drive the blade straight at my target.”

Peeling around in front of him, I waved my blade in a bow. “Go ahead and try it, Son. _En garde_.” Crouching down into a ready posture, I waited for him to assume the position before I called out. “Attack is yours, I will only defend.”

He hesitated a moment before coming in on a straight line lunge. Driving forward into my waiting guard which appeared ever open, the orientation of a right hand against a left. We were both small opponents; he with the small stature of youth, and my thin frame providing a narrow target. Everything about this practice bout increased the difficulty. The tip rammed toward the center of my left side, protected of course by a padded fencing jacket. It never reached the target. As he closed the distance, I let my hilt float in my fingers, waiting until his blade contacted mine, riding the path until it was halfway down the length. He was committed to the course, driving with a stiffened grip. Slamming my grip shut, I watched as the angle of the blades dramatically shifted. His blade shoved off course to slide harmlessly in the space in front of me. A simple turn of my wrist brought the blunt tip of mine to connect with his rib cage. Beneath the mesh of his fencing mask I saw his eyes widen as he marked the bend to my blade.

“ _Touche_.” I disengaged, bringing the blade to rest.

“You said you weren’t going to attack.” He lowered his blade.

“And I did not. You walked right into that. Your stiff guard was your undoing.”

“The guard is strange, at school I am used to fencing opponents like me.”

This was not the first time I had heard the lamentable excuses. “Ah yes, they are neither elderly nor fight with the sinister hand.” I rolled the fingers of my left hand upon the hilt of the foil. “Come now, my son, none of that truly makes any difference, there is always strategy in every bout. Besides, it is more challenging to face an opponent with an opposing guard.”

“I don’t like how it feels.” He swung his blade idly at the marble floor. “The guard is always open.”

“You mean it always **appears** open. That is precisely the strength. The idea is to let your opponent believe they have an advantage thus drawing them in. Once they are committed to your trap you make your move. That is why you need to practice against a left hander, to cover the weakness of your own guard.” Sliding back into the crouch I brought my blade up. “Words do not do the technique justice. _En garde_.”

“Father, I don’t want to hurt you.” He held the blade only half at ready.

“Ridiculous. We’re both wearing proper practice gear for the sake of your mother’s peace of mind. The blades are blunted. This is the only way you shall be able to learn.” I waited for him to attack only to find him hanging back. “Charles, this is not to the death. And though I am advanced in years, I am hardly in any danger of the grave. Surely you know by now I am not as fragile as I look. Present your blade.”

He took a deep breath, the tip raising in small increments until at last he settled in the stance. In a flash, I came at him in a series of feints, drawing his blade in an awkward pattern that kept the angle of the blows concentrated in the front of our bodies. He played into the first few before reading the pattern and adjusting to the ploy. Good, he had listened! Switching tactics I pulled back a little, letting his blade come into the space with a sequence of swift parries. His grip that had started clenched, almost white-knuckled, now began to relax. My maneuvers had forced the fingers to loosen in order to block and drive my blade.

“Keep relaxed. A rigid body resists motion.” I offered him a circle parry with a hard lunge. His blade twisted it out of the way as he grunted with the effort. Withdrawing quickly, he nearly got a strike against the hyper-extended posture I had been left in. Back on my feet, we danced across the floor to the staccato rhythm of our blades exchanging blows. Giving and taking ground in turns, I had no interest in ending the exchange as I watched him gaining insight into the atypical guard. He was exploring, taking more risks, he was learning how to draw my blade into openings he was creating. _Touche_ was not the point of his lesson, this was all about learning how evade the death blow.

At last, Charles withdrew holding his foil wide with submission. He removed the fencing mask to reveal a red face dripping with sweat as he leaned over breathing hard. “Why didn’t you take the point from me half a dozen times? How long was that?”

“Because you were learning at a remarkable rate, Son. I was obliged to watch your progress. When you let yourself be fluid, that is when you were able to adapt quickly enough. Keeping a calm head in the midst is yet another key. The victor is almost invariably the one who does not fall victim to a frantic mind.” Sliding the foil into a loop on the right side of my fencing jacket, I tugged off the leather gloves. “You picked up on the nuances very quickly. There were a few times where you nearly had me.”

Charles secured his own foil, unbuttoning the high corner of his padded jacket for ventilation. “If you ask me, Father, this whole sport is rather ridiculous.”

“Really. Then tell me, my boy, how will you defend your honor when you are called upon to duel?” I held up a hand to cease his stammering. “Though you are an honorable boy, do not even attempt to convince me that your actions will never offend another man. It is bound to happen, and a duel need not even be about a real offense. Some are quite imagined, but enough to cause gentlemen to toe the line.”

A short laugh escaped him. “Do you know how old fashioned you are, Father? Nobody duels with swords anymore. This age calls for pistols.”

It was my turn to laugh. “Then tomorrow’s lesson will be to show you just how accurate a pistol can actually be.”

He cocked his head. “You have a pistol?”

“Of course I do. It makes a fantastic paper weight, but that is about all it is good for.” I replied blandly. “I assure you, you can throw the entire pistol with more accuracy than you can shoot one. Ball shot has a notoriously unpredictable trajectory. Thus a duel by gun is more to luck. Whereas a duel by blade is a true test of opponents, requiring strategy.” My bare hand closed around the hilt. Drawing out the foil, I leveled the blade staring along its length at my son. “The piercing tip can be relied upon to go where it has been directed.”

His eyes examined the blade hovering in the air between us before he remarked. “Defending ones honor by armed combat, why is that a mark of a man? Besides, when was the last time you actually fought with a sword?”

“Five years ago.” I replied distantly. My eyes drifted to the floor as memories flowed back. “Five years ago … it was the night I broke my arm.”

Charles’s breath rushed out of him as he stiffened. “The last night he … the night that … you pushed him out the window … ” He staggered through the phrases like a dream-walker startled from his sleep. “Oh my God! Father, did you kill Raoul?”

My eyes closed of their own accord. All this time I had not told him of what had truly transpired that dizzying night. He had no knowledge of the duel that had followed. He’d been a young boy never questioning how Raoul had died. Now that I had carelessly answered an innocent question, there was no choice but to tell him the truth. “Charles, I did not actually kill him. I had nearly suffered the same fate. A team of carriage horses intervened when our duel startled them. One instantly killed him while another reared and struck me, effectively putting an end to the argument.”

Throwing his leather gloves onto the floor, Charles roared up at me. “I had known that man to be my father for eight years!”

Dumbfounded, I glanced at what could be considered a challenge lying on the floor. Thankfully he was not considered a man yet. Thankfully no one had been witness to the gesture. I could not let this grow to the point where he should issue the challenge in earnest.

I held out my hands palm down fighting the urge to cringe. “Yes, I know, but remember your own words to me. Remember how turbulent life was with him. Charles, all that time he never acted like a father. In truth all that time he was not, I am your sire.”

“You didn’t have to kill him!”

“I was defending your mother. I was defending you.” My voice rose in defense. This whole conversation I was quite unprepared for. And yet, I could scarcely deny him the truth. “Raoul was given a chance to leave peaceably. In the end, he chose his fate the moment he struck your mother at the Music Hall in front of everyone. That is not the mark of a gentlemen.”

He glared back at me. “And pushing him out a second story window was?”

“That … ” I closed my eyes and heaved a sigh. “That had been an accident. In my haste to come to your mother’s defense, I had failed to consider the laws of physics. Please understand, if I had not intervened, others who had been slighted by Raoul over the course of the previous days would have ended his life. His fate was sealed by his own actions.”

“But it was your actions that drove him to his death!” Wildly he shook his fist in the air. “Why has this been hidden from me?”

Because, my son, I didn’t know how to say it without hurting you. To the degree that this topic was driving him to anger, it left me in a state of dreadful unease. I felt the facade of formality overtake me, a familiar coping mechanism I used to try to disarm a difficult situation. My last defense before resorting to violence—please don’t let it come to that, not with my son. Approaching him, I did not let him withdraw. Placing my hands in a firm grip on his shoulders I somberly looked down into his eyes. “Sometimes we are called upon to perform un-pleasantries in life. Charles, I beg your pardon that I have taken so long to reveal the fate of the man you once knew as your unfortunate father. Let me explain to you something that may not be obvious.”

His deep brown eyes met mine unwavering, still trembling with anger.

“Raoul betrayed my trust.” I confessed. “I loved your mother from the very first moment I heard her sing. The games I had played from the shadows to turn her eyes my way, left me with a dreadful realization.”

“Games? What games?” He roared up at me, the rage flaring in his eyes. Beneath my hand I felt the ripples of tension through him.

“Charles, I was more than just a vocal tutor to your mother. You have heard the stories of the Opera Ghost in Paris by now, the Phantom of the Opera.” When he snuffed a short tempered breath I met his eyes steadily. “I was the man behind the haunting. Once I fell in love with your mother, I did everything within my power to shamelessly win her affection. I was a bitter, lonely man and I committed many despicable actions in my efforts to secure her, including murder.”

“If you loved her so much why did you abandon her, you manipulative ass!” Charles tried to slap me, but I caught his wrist and held him firmly.

“I live in constant regret, plagued by what I had done! Why do you think I took such pains to bury that past so deeply!” I shouted, my grip tightening so hard on his wrist that his hand turned white. “When I demanded she make her choice between Raoul and I, I could never have known if it was by her will or my vile deception. So, I released her to Raoul under his sworn promise that he would cherish her for the remainder of their lives together.” Shedding the anger, it took great effort to force the defensive stance to fall away. I drew his chin up with a finger. “I never knew you existed as a result of the last night I had laid eyes on your mother. She believed I was on my deathbed … and for her sake, I shamefully deceived her into that belief. It had been my intention that she live in blissful happiness, not pining over my solitary fate, the fault of which was entirely my own.”

Releasing him, I turned to pace the hall followed by the echoes of my footsteps. “Raoul was entrusted with the one soul upon this earth who had dared to see beyond my deformity. When I learned of how he had squandered his fortune, forced his family to lose various homes through his reckless gambling and drinking, his lewd public behavior slandering his reputation. These were horrid enough, but his actions lead to your abandonment where you had been stabbed and would have drowned had your mother not alerted to me your absence. Further, he shamefully struck your mother on more than one occasion. That was not the life he had given his word he would uphold when I granted him my greatest treasure.” Turning to face my son I found him studying the floor, every muscle rigid. A few tears streamed from his conflicted eyes. With quiet commitment, I concluded, “I am not ashamed of what I had done that night, because my actions were for the well-being of your mother … and for you.”

Charles remained still for a long time, a statue in the middle of the room. If I had longed to carve a statue depicting the anguish of torn loyalties, his pose would have been the embodiment of that struggle. Unwittingly, the un-reconciled conflict between Raoul and myself had become his inheritance. How I longed to lock that secret back into the dark where it belonged with my past identity. It was too late. The truth already flayed him. Sharply, he turned on his heel fleeing for the door.

I did nothing to stop him. There was nothing I could say until the sting of shock abated and his rationality returned. Stooping down, I picked up the gloves feeling the weight of the leather in my hands. Such an insubstantial amount of material bore a heavier weight than it should have warranted. What if my son never forgave me? What if one day these gloves should be thrown down with full intention? I could never hurt him … I would rather die in shame than draw a true blade against him.

The chimes of the grandfather clock echoed through the hall reminding me that the world never stood still for a man in introspection. Damrosch and I had a meeting in a half hour.

* * * * *

“How bad is it?” For the past ten minutes Damrosch had been pacing my office without ceasing for a second.

“Subtract thirty four … ” I diligently murmured before recording the next amount in Carnegie Hall’s accounting ledger. Years ago, before the hall opened its doors for business, Carnegie had promised me this task would be passed along to someone else. I had known better then to expect truth in that promise. And so, here I sat at my desk balancing the bleeding books, for indeed the red numbers surely overtook the black. Glancing up from the volume, I remarked, “I would have your answer all the sooner if you would hold still and remain silent for even a few minutes.”

The man made a noble effort before his feet carried him across the room again. “I’m sorry, Erik! I just know we failed to break even yet again last month.”

As I calmly entered the red inked total, I nodded. “Only by two thousand and forty one dollars. That would be a marked improvement from the month before which was nearly five.” Without hesitation, I produced my personal check book, my monthly donation to the hall had always been to make up for any short-falling.

Damrosch brought his hands down on the desk with a bang. “How long can you do this, Erik? What happens if we cannot pay the overhead on the hall?”

Signing the check, I leisurely tore it from the binding before recording the amount for my own ledger. “I told you not to worry about that. With the vast business interests I am involved in, money is by far the least of my concerns. Projects like the hall take time for the world to recognize what we are presenting. In time, she will become the focal point of the city just as we had always dreamed. Friday’s performance is sure to send a ripple through the community. I must admit to being astonished with the ambitious vision the dance troupe already had when they requested our assistance and the use of the hall.”

Dropping his weight into the chair opposite my desk, he let his hand hang in the air before his eyes. “There is another more immediate matter we must discuss. Now that Adam Wallbeck has been laid to rest, what are we to do about the second chair? Cecile Dupon is not ready for the challenge of the second chair. And no one else is either.”

Closing the ledger, I folded my hands on top of it. Since the unsolved murder at our very doorstep, this was the first chance we had to discuss the position. To be honest, my mind had been preoccupied with the younger man’s funeral. Sadly, Damrosch was correct. Though we had a number of skilled violinists no one was capable of sitting in Wallbeck’s chair. The silence stretched out between us.

“We have to think of something.” He sighed. “And soon. You know as well as I that it takes time for the symphony to adjust to any changes.”

“Perhaps I could give Dupon a few private lessons, he may have some untapped potential sufficient to take the chair.” My fingers drew idle circles around each other.

Damrosch shook his head sadly. “Cecile is shorter on time than you are. I don’t think he would be able to make the time for such lessons.” As he stared at his hands, a revelation struck him. I saw the moment he tensed before he locked eyes with me. “What about that fellow, the one at the anniversary party … what was his name?”

“Friederich Reiniger.” I leaned back in my chair, not liking this idea at all, I was certain my ominous tone indicated this. The oddest thing was, I could not put into words precisely what it was that bothered me about the man.

“Yes!” He nodded swiftly, his hand coming down upon the desk. “He seemed talented enough to be able to carry the parts. What do you think?”

“I think it is a rash decision.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I shook my head. “You have met the man twice, you know next to nothing save he has memorized one of your father’s works. It may very well be that is the only piece he knows at all. What will the symphony think of a stranger brought in off the streets while all the others are passed over for the chair. Perhaps we would be wiser to have an audition for the empty chair. We may have overlooked talent we already possess.”

For a moment he tossed the idea around in his head, “Perhaps … announce it at today’s rehearsal and let them prepare something.”

I shook my head. “We should select the piece. They should be required to play the identical piece so as to be able to compare their skills adequately.”

Damrosch’s eyes flashed bright as he was struck by a revelation. “Do you have the second chair part done for that score you were working on?”

“Of course. I wrote that part at the same time as my own.”

“Why not that, then?” He climbed to his feet, excited at the prospect. “None of them can have known it. Present those who wish to strive for it with a challenging selection and we can see who learns it the swiftest. Would you consent to the use?”

I shrugged, “Eventually they will see the whole thing anyway. Why not?”

“Eventually?” His head cocked to the side as he pondered the word. “How much longer will this piece take to compose?”

Eyeing him decisively, I dodged the subject, not wishing to tell him of the fate of several pages. “Would you have asked Mozart how long til he had before his next piece?”

“Does it even have a name?” He lifted an eyebrow. “You promised me it would be the crowning piece for the holiday concerts.”

“A little faith, please.”

I almost could have placed a wager on the candidates who stepped forth to audition for second chair. Connolly, Seambrook, Dupon, and Lure stepped up after Damrosch announced the upcoming competition. With the number known I could now copy the measures needed and have it waiting at the hall for them to pick up. They had one week to memorize it. We had decided to have a few extra copies in case another changed their mind and wished to audition. The feeling of mourning the loss of Wallbeck still hung thick in the air, for all of us.

Life, like death, waited for no one. Friday was swiftly approaching and if I was to fulfill my promise to the troupe, I had a few mechanisms to construct.

* * * * *

“Erik?” Damrosch entered the dressing room with a gasp accompanied by Connolly. Both men stared in disbelief of what they saw. “Is that you? I swore I would never see you in anything besides full evening attire. But here you are … dressed as in … ”

“Persian robes.” I glanced up from waxing the bow for my violin.

Damrosch continued. “Colorful ones at that! Black is the primary color I see you in. Not a single thread on that is black!”

Awestruck, Connolly inquired. “Is this how you looked in the courts of Persia?”

“No.” Nadir rapped his fingers on the table he was leaning against, his dark scowl fixed upon me as it had been for the last hour. He was also garbed in his Persian courtly attire in all the fancy colors and embroidery of his full previous station. “His actual attire had more personal flare than mine ever had. I must ask, Erik, what compelled you to raid _my_ wardrobe? Where are _your_ court robes?”

Distractedly I laughed. “Let me see, when I left your company I recall your instructions being take only things of value. If I had bothered to take them, I surely would have burned them by now!”

“You should have asked me if you could borrow the ones you are wearing.” He growled.

With a shrug, I set the bow aside to take up my violin to ensure the strings were set for the performance. There I stood, garbed in some of Nadir’s less elaborate attire as was befitting my needs for the night. The more muted color palette in reds and blues with the less full cut of the garb was essential for my role. True, they were not fit properly to my taller frame, but at least the general cut was generous to begin with. The cuffs managed to just reach my wrists and ankles.

Nadir continued gruffly. “Erik’s court attire was rather unique, given his station as an entertainer in the court. As he was a foreigner, some conventions were overlooked when he personalized his tailoring.”

“I was a novelty in that court.” I remarked over my shoulder while preparing a small hollow metal tube, filling it with a fluid. “Nothing more.”

“Nothing more?” He interjected, stepping forward with a short laugh. “The way the shah dropped purses of gold in your hands, that was not the way anyone else saw it. One performance from you resulted in enough payment for my entire household for a year! The best rooms in all the palace, besides the shah’s personal chambers, were at your disposal. Anything you desired was yours. You have no idea the opulence showered upon you.”

Tucking in the cap and with a small device into the tube I glanced over at my ruffled friend. “I will remind you, Nadir, that you had an actual home in those distant days. When you and I first met, what did you find?”

“You were in a tent.”

I nodded while pouring fluid into the second tube. “Indeed. A tent in a traveling fair. What a grand life that was. Did it ever occur to you how strange it was for me to agree to come at the demand of your shah in the first place? A more permanent dwelling with actual walls sounded appealing.”

Damrosch’s eyes bounced back and forth between Nadir and me. “With the wealth you obtained, you could have bought the palace!”

Capping the second tube, I grinned wickedly. “Now why did I not think of that before the shah ordered my beheading? Oh yes, that is right. Because between his demands and those of his infernal khanum, I was left without a moment’s time to myself. What good is wealth when one is unable to find time to enjoy it?”

He rolled his eyes, changing the topic so as not to officially concede. “Where is Christine? I thought she was to be part of this?”

Taking up the twin rings and my violin, I gestured for everyone to follow, it was near time for the stage call. “She is likely getting the last of her make-up applied. Now, your role is simple, Nadir. There is a column on the right side of the stage, you only need to stand in front of it for the whole of the performance.”

“Stand there, that’s it?” Nadir cocked an eyebrow. Slowly it dawned on him. “I am to be a court guard.”

I nodded enthusiastically. “You are a prop. A stage dressing, if you will. What better for this little Persian dance scene than an authentic Persian.”

“I am a court guard!” He was bristling as we walked down the hall, until his eyes glanced down to find the metal tubes now clasped about my wrists. With a startled gasp, he fixed his gaze on me. “And you are a _slave_!”

Pausing in the hall before the main auditorium’s wing, I placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “Were we ever truly anything else in that court? Be honest with yourself, Nadir. Any significance behind your family ties to the shah was meaningless the moment your usefulness was in question. And I, I was nothing but a meddling foreigner. I assure you, this act you are about to see is the only time I shall ever bow before a shah.”

Stiffly, he nodded. “I remember how you resisted all the formalities. There was constant muttering concerning how long the shah was going to permit your insolence.”

Pulling out a thin ribbon, I gave him a wink. “Why do you think the palace took me so long to build? I kept goading him to add new things to extend the amount of time I could keep possession of my head.”

“Then you knew all along.”

I slipped the ribbon into the small rings on each of the cuffs around my wrists, working with deft fingers to tie them together in mimicry of slave bonds, tightening it at last with a tug of my teeth. “I would have been a fool to be thinking the outcome would be otherwise.”

His sad eyes took in the sight before him. I had come a long way from those days in Persia where binding my wrists together would have been sheer torture. Now, calmly I was achieving the task myself without the faintest twinge of fear. The knot would come loose when I had need of it in the performance. This was all to sell the act. Around us now gathered the members of the Harper Dance Troupe, several attired as slaves with ribbons now being tied about their wrists, binding them together in the same manner as mine, so as to allow their release when the dance began. “What manner of story are we to tell?” Nadir inquired as he cast his eyes around at the shah and the khanum standing amidst their guards. If one did not know they were mere dancers in costume … well there was some question to authenticity, there had been a little artistic license in the costumes.

I flashed my friend a quick grin. “A vaguely familiar one. Though, remember, I did not write this little saga for the troupe. The tale had been already laid out well before they asked my assistance. I only provided the violin and the … special effects.”

Dressed as the khanum, Darcy Kahldash appraised me as she crossed the room. “Erik! Are those authentic?”

My attempt to spread my arms wide to give her the full effect was hampered as the tension on the ribbon reminded me of my role. I was left to tuck both hands off the side in an inelegant bow. “Indeed, they are true court robes as I promised.

“Stolen.” Nadir muttered under his breath.

“Borrowed.” I corrected. “And here is the authentic Persian I mentioned.”

“Ah yes, the esteemed Nadir Khan.” She reached out a hand dripping with jewelry to my friend. “Erik has told me so much about you and the courts. It is an honor to meet an official royal member.”

Nadir was blushing as I fought to choke back my laughter. “My lady … I … well, I was only a minor member of the house. Daroga of Mazenderan. Hardly something to be going on about.”

“You belittle yourself, Nadir. You had a very important task, being one of the few honest men in that court of vipers.” Noting the guard who would be handing me my violin on the stage, I pointed it out for him before gesturing awkwardly with my bound hands. “Time to take your place, Daroga. Try not to harass me too much on stage, I do have a performance to pull off.”

With that, the musicians took their places. I had been impressed with the assembly of instruments they managed to get for this exotic show: tabor, tabla and doumbek for the percussion; a mandolin, mandocello, oud, guitar, and bouzouki for the strings; and even a shawm as a woodwind. With the accompanists seated on their elaborate cushions, the guards took their places as one stepped forth to set the scene. “Ladies and Gentlemen.” He called out to the audience. “This night we bring a feast of sight and sound before your eyes. The rich music and beautiful exotic dancing set to a deep story of the power stronger than death. With the gracious assistance of Erik and Christine Daae the Harper Dance Troupe brings to you, the world of Persia!”

To the rhythm of the drums, the shah and his khanum processed in a wild dance before taking their thrones, draped in colorful silks and gauze at the center of the stage. Once they were in place it was our cue. Amongst the rest of the dancers, I was led on stage and physically forced to kneel before the rulers.

“Shah-in-shah, oh star in the heavens.” The guard declared the rhetoric that Nadir had once tried to get me to say, the words I flatly refused to say even on pain of death. “For your entertainment, the best to be found across the land. Foreign jewels for your pleasure! Dancers supple and youthful.” Standing over me now he gestured down. “And a fiddler seized from a fresh graveside.”

Lifting my bound hands pleadingly, I blurted out the one spoken line I had. “She was my wife, I was laying her soul to rest!”

In a mock strike, the guard laid me out on my side. It was nothing more than a choreographed interaction as I ducked. “Silence, Slave! You only speak when you are addressed to do so.”

The khanum waved a hand. “He will play for us, or he will join her. Now!” A sinister smile possessed her as she delivered the threat. Now that was authentic! She had taken to my coaching well.

As my violin was handed to me, I caused the knot to slip, freeing my wrists. However the rings were still engaged, riding comfortably on my limbs. Remaining on my knees, I let the instrumentalists build the undercurrent before I drew the bow tentatively across the strings. The slow, mildly seductive music the troupe had selected seized the slave dancers who began to turn in sinuous motions with the exotic music of the Middle East. Gradually, I climbed to my feet, my eyes searching the edges of the stage for an obvious exit from the room. As the dancers reached a wild swirling pattern, I spun between them and seemed to vanish in between two guards.

Only to be thrust back out onto the stage at sword point, clearly caught in my vain attempt to flee captivity. While the music continued underneath, the guard leering above me made it obvious my hands were forfeit if I refused to perform. With a little melodramatic flare to sell it to the audience, I took back up my violin and began to play the same strains as before, save they were infused with a distaste and a hatred for my captors. The notes were harshly flung as I savagely rent the strings of my violin. The steps of the dancers around me colored their moves in the same emotions. In a turn, I stole a quick glance at Nadir to see his curious gaze as this little drama unfolded. He was glancing over my shoulder at what I already knew was awaiting me. After all, I had rehearsed this with Kahldash’s dance troupe well.

A scarf fell over my shoulder and I spun to find the khanum dangerously close, face-to-mask with me. Kahldash played the role well, draped in the jeweled silks, she danced seductively as she relentlessly chased my panicked retreat throughout the court until the shah beckoned her to him.

Dropping my bow from the strings, I let the instrumentalists accompany the dancers who were gathering in a circle central to the stage. Demonstrating weariness, I staggered to the edge of a water trough on the stage and discarded my violin there, dripping water over my hair as if exhausted.

It was then that her voice rose into the air. The plaintive, wordless song of the soul beyond the grave. As I turned around, from the middle of the circle of dancers rose a writhing Christine, shrouded in white flowing gauze and painted deathly pale. Her hand reached out as she drifted through the encircling dancers across the stage to turn slowly around my entranced, staggering form. With effortless grace, she placed the violin back in my hands while continuing her drone from beyond the grave.

Gradually I began to smile. Enthralled by this ghost, I followed her path and began to play her mournful song as she placed her figure before the khanum herself. Now as I played, the music was to my deceased beloved! No longer was the song ringing out to the heartless seductress.

With a new will, I played out the wail of this specter of love as she danced among the slaves, all the while the khanum and shah clearly never suspected a thing. Caught up in the music, they swayed and pitched in the rhythm. By now, even the guards in the court had begun to be infused with the piece, swords drawn, they swung them in calculated arcs, cutting the space between the slave dancers.

With a flick of my wrist I discarded my violin in safe keeping for the next phase. Until the very end I would not play again. It took only a second to slide the rings over my hands into my waiting palms before the audience. Surrounded by the dancers moving to the wild broken rhythm of this movement in the piece, I began to roll the two rings, shifting them in a series of patterns between my hands. I was waiting for a set beat that marked a complete drop to silence. We had chosen that moment for a reason. Kahldash had requested flare in this performance, and she would get it.

In the sudden silence I seized both rings above my head and struck them together. They burst into bright yellow flames to a gasp from the audience. I had only a moment before I had to set them into motion or risk getting burned. Now that they were ignited, I could not stop. The troupe knew what was going to happen, but I had never brought the filled rings to the rehearsal. I saw the bright reflections in their eyes as I tossed the rings into the air, juggling the two while I joined into the raw rhythm of the dance. Carefully planned motions meant the dancers were momentarily embraced by the whirling arcs of flame with minimal risk, but forming a breathtaking spectacle. Even Christine danced and spun beneath the circles of flame before I snatched them again, only to once more fling them into the air. I may not have been a ballroom dancer, but the exotic flare of the Middle Eastern dance style I had seen enough of to feel my way through. And I had even flung the fire rings before the real khanum of Persia. With no small amount of delight, I let one of my throws get dangerously close to Nadir before snatching the ring away from his startled form.

The wild pattern trimmed in flames built into a frenzy before in a flash I vanished from sight, dousing the rings in the trough on my way by. The dancers remained the focus on stage as I reclaimed my violin and leaped atop a pillar to leer over the shah and khanum’s throne. The deft strokes on my violin haunted the hall in foreboding as the music overtook them, controlling all those beneath me on the stage who were now left writhing in the throws of the passionately dark music.

Before the final stroke, Christine’s spectral form emerged beside me, aided by a hidden staircase, and placed the shah’s crown upon my head.

A full standing ovation greeted the troupe as they came to the edge of the stage and bowed. Christine and I were seated on top of the pillar behind the throne. It was amusing, we had rehearsed every part of this but the stage bows. From where we were, there was no graceful way of getting down.

Kahldash looked back up at us and waved a hand before she noticed what I had. As though it had been planned she gestured back at us. “A special thank you to Erik and Christine for assisting us in this performance.”

When the lights dimmed, I helped Christine down the staircase so she could get her make-up removed. Having retrieved the extinguished rings from the trough, I was spinning them idly around my finger. When no one was beside me, Nadir approached with a shake of his head. “I heard about that trick, but never had the chance to see it. However.” He eyed the metal as it clanked in its spin. “I heard there was a more sinister purpose.”

In a swift motion, I brought forth the ribbon which seemed to attach itself to one the rings. The blur of motion produced the weapon that the daroga had only heard of from those dark days. “You mean something like this. Only it was not a colorful ribbon, but a string of fire-resistant catgut.”

“You always seemed to enjoy playing with fire. So beautiful … ” He barely breathed as a sadness overtook his eyes.

“Yet so merciless.” I sighed, letting the ring hang on the makeshift restraint. I had used the rings to blind and injure my victims in the courts of Persia before dispatching them. One of my more sinister duties in those days.

“I never imagined how they worked, how you wielded a flaming ring without getting burned.” As I handed the ring to him, letting him examine the hidden flint trigger on the inside, he stared in awe. “Now that I have born witness, I can see why this was spoken of so often. The speed and dexterity it requires is breathtaking.”

Leaning against a pillar, I morosely replied. “This application was much more to my liking.”

“What is, my love?” Christine’s delicate fingers tickled the back of my neck, sending a tingle down my spine.

I turned to find her complexion normal again. With the make-up removed, she was no longer pasted in white. “Oh look! Someone has resurrected my beloved wife! Darling, pardon me for saying so, you look so much better in the flesh then as a ghost.”

Christine giggled. “I forgot how much fun it was to dance as well as sing in a performance. Erik, when can we do this again?”

“I am sure Kahldash can come up with something. It certainly seemed to go over well enough.”

Kahldash approached us as if on cue. “Undoubtedly. This was quite a heartrending performance. And I have the two of you to thank. Though we have some actors amidst our troupe, there are none who can sing as you, Madame Daae. Erik, when you mentioned the fire rings I had no idea how stunning they would be once lit.”

“All about the aesthetics. A grand performance is in those details.”

She smiled broadly. “Would you teach my dancers how to do that?”

I hesitated. “Kahldash, there is a lot involved in learning how to do that without getting burned or lighting your own clothing on fire, or something else around you. There was a reason I had selected tighter fitting clothing without the fringe and tassels.”

Nadir stepped forward cocking his head as he looked at the ring in his hand. “Erik, when exactly did you figure out how to perform this little trick?”

Casting him a dismissive glance, I replied. “In between visits to the palace at Tehran, why?”

His hand tightened. “Is that what happened to the rug in my sitting room? The one my servants swore they knew nothing about when it suddenly vanished?”

“I _may_ have missed a catch once … ” I shrugged innocently.

His eyes grew wide before Christine interjected with Kahldash. “We should love to assist the troupe again. Let us know next time you want to do a collaboration.”

The two women shook hands before Kahldash embraced my hand. “Thank you for hosting us, Erik.”

“It was my pleasure.” I said with a bow. Casting a glance over my shoulder at Nadir, I laughed. “And that is the only time I shall ever have said that to a khanum!”

* * * * *

Upon arriving at home, Christine decided on the need for a bath to remove the remainder of the make-up from her performance. I, feeling a need for fresh air after the stifling stage lights, wandered up to my rooftop garden. Meandering through the rows of assorted flowers, I was pleased to see an entire bank of belladonna flourishing. A wide variety of my roses raised their sweet blooms under the starlight, fully recovered from the over-pruning they were subjected to when Christine first arrived. Poor dear, her heart had been in the right place when she attempted to bring a little color into the rooms of my mansion. By now, my tinkering with hybridizing rose blooms had dwindled to a passing fancy. Now, I just grew them out of admiration for their pure beauty. Their full scent drifted through the night air.

Years ago, I would come up here to lie on a bench gazing up at the stars while the lazy breath of the dragon drifted from my pipe. Breaking the grip of the vice had been so torturous, the memories of learning to live again without it was sufficient to banish the desire to resume. And yet … there were still times when I remembered the sweet embrace of the opium. The inspiration, the comfort, how it quelled the darker side of me. That was all before Christine.

Inhaling the floral scented air, I strode up to the balustrade surrounding my rooftop to gaze over the city. Out of the corner of my eye, movement caught my attention. A curious figure leaning against the eastern railing. Silently, I wandered over, coming up to the edge, one section from Charles’s left side. “The stars are a spectacle tonight.”

Startled by my sudden appearance, he took a swift step back. “Fa—Father. What are you doing here?”

“It is my garden to enjoy at my leisure, something I find little of these days.” Turning my gaze to him I inquired softly, “The better question is what are you doing here?”

His eyes ran up and down my figure before he blurted out. “No, the better question is why are you dressed like that?”

Stretching my arms out, I indulged him a little. This was the first we had spoken since the unfortunate unveiling of the past. If my efforts to heal the wounded relationship cost me a little dignity, so be it. “Dressed like Nadir—well actually, these _are_ Nadir’s. It is a shame you missed the performance this evening. Your mother was truly remarkable as a ghost. If you like this, you should have seen the death shroud the troupe came up with.”

“I don’t like it.” He abruptly turned and leaned on the stone. “You look ridiculous.”

Of course he was still upset. Not even Christine had been able staunch the wound I had been forced to inflict on my son. Clearing my throat, I joined him in leaning on the balustrade. “Sometimes what looks out of place in one country is considered common place in another.” He was unmoved, trying to ignore me, but I could see the twitch of his eyes as they teased out glances in my direction. “When I first came to Persia, my attire was substantially different than what I wear here in Manhattan. Clothing is merely a reflection of a culture’s societal acceptance.”

Another glance my way, before he muttered, “What about one’s behavior? What does that say of the excusability of murder?”

Now was not the time, but one day I should have to tell him of my days in Persia. “Well,” I heaved a long sigh, “that condition can also be the case, Charles. The world is a vast place with many different perspectives.”

A heated glare turned on me. “You’re still trying to justify his death. Your actions are responsible for ending his life.”

It as was clear as the shah’s stolen diamond now, gone were the days when he would look upon me as an infallible man.

“He didn’t deserve to die like that!” Charles snapped, his white-knuckled grip on the stone holding him at bay.

“Charles, son, he had the chance to avoid it all.” I met his accusing glare without flinching. “Sadly Raoul’s own actions made the duel inevitable.”

“A duel is called out.” He stabbed a finger into my chest. “An apology is requested first, then a challenge, and a place and time set. You just drew your sword!”

I held up a hand. “Not precisely how it happened, Charles. He attempted to draw his pistol before my blade was fully bared.”

That gave him a moments thought. “But you were ready to draw it.” There was some confusion entering his voice, the conviction draining away.

I nodded. “Yes, my hand was on the hilt. Remember, Raoul and I had a long and bitter history. That was not my first altercation with him. I knew all too well that he would stoop to trying to shoot me without fair combat. Which is why I made it fair. I gave him a chance to properly arm himself, and even time to assess a guard stance. Charles, please understand, we both engaged in the duel that night fully knowing one of us would likely die. There is no way he could have possibly believed otherwise.”

Charles stood there, breathing slowly as my words sank in. His tension draining muscle by muscle until even his eyes lowered. Instead of the hot-headed adolescent, I found a greater resemblance to the contemplative boy I once knew, wrapped in confusion. I wanted to reach out and embrace him, even to just lay a reassuring hand upon his shoulder … but I knew better then to break the spell. The move needed to be his.

At long last, he stole a glance at me. “You really lived in the cellars of the Paris Opera for years? I mean, you really hid in the passages and manipulated people?”

I felt a little heat rising on my face from the embarrassment. “Yes. I really did. It was a shameful application of my gift for illusions and ventriloquism. It has not escaped me how much damage my foolish games caused. How many lives I recklessly mangled just because I loathed the society that rendered me an outcast.”

“You … ” He paused, searching for the words in a halting stammer. “That wasn’t that long ago, really. You were a fully grown man … ”

I took over for him. “Playing a deadly game of hide and seek as I lurked in a world of shadows.” I sighed, hanging my head. “So delusional I called it my kingdom. I was such a fool, and it took me far too long to realize that. In my then brutalized heart I had firmly believed no one cared. I was quite convinced that I should die and not a soul should have cause to mourn me.”

He shifted his hands on the stone further away from me. “It wasn’t right. What you did, it wasn’t right to treat people like play things.”

I felt my nails grind against the balustrade as I struggled to rein in my gut wrenching reaction. “So it was alright for society to treat me like a feral beast? I am just to allow myself to be subject to their definition of what is worthy of respect?”

Shaking his head swiftly, he drew back. “Well no … but what you did … it was extreme. Surely there was another way.”

“If there had been at that time, I failed to see it. The world had battered and betrayed me repeatedly. The scars had damaged me so completely that for a time I had lost touch with rational thought.” Casting my eyes to the stars, I released my death-grip on the stones. “It took your mother’s love to redeem me … to wake me up from the dismal nightmare I had consigned my existence to. Somehow, even though she knew of my true nature, on that shameful night when I forced her to decide between Raoul or me she dared to willingly embrace me … to be the first woman ever to … ” I was trembling, shaking at the memory of the first time her lips embraced mine. “… kiss me.”

Charles’s eyes studied me in wonder as he drew a bit closer. “But you said you couldn’t be sure it had been her choice or your deception.”

I nodded slowly, my eyes edging to meet his. “I did not know that night when I released her to Raoul’s keeping. She confessed the truth to me ten years later when her journey across the Atlantic to Carnegie Hall inadvertently reunited us.”

“She really fell in love with you?”

“Despite all reason … yes. She grew beyond pitying the monster I let the world forge me into … to love the man I could not see even existed. I had buried my humanity too deeply beneath the weight of the years.” My fingers tugged the silken tie on the robes sleeve. “For my crime’s, I should have been executed many times over. I will not lie to you, Son. I have created a great many sins against humanity. Yet, she found the strength and forgave me.”

He swallowed, leaning once more on the railing. His voice trembled as he spoke, “Should she have? You say you are not sorry.”

“The decisions of another time … almost another incarnation.” I offered a slow shrug of my shoulders, gazing out at the lights of the city. “Often it appears that the laws that govern our world should be as solid as stone. The more you live the more you will see that very little of life can be assessed in such a rigid manner. I can only assure you that the sooner you open your eyes to the truth of the ever-changing condition of life, the better prepared you will be to face reality.”

His eyes flicked up briefly to my mask. Tentatively, he replied. “Perhaps some people’s realities are skewed.”

For some time, all I could do was stare blankly at him, how close to the truth he was. At last raising my eyes to the stars I murmured, “Circumstances as they are … in some people’s lives … yes, it does mean they are presented with a rather different view. No less valid than any other. My son, the key is to remember compassion can allow you to see through their eyes … if you should choose to.”

There was only the sound of the wind buffeting the stiff rose leaves. The sensation of the breeze tugging on the old silk robe teased me to look down, but I remained fixed on the starlight not daring a glance at my son.

His fingers appeared, reaching up before my eyes. I felt him grasp the edges of the mask. Closing my eyes, I lowered my head, allowing him to slip the satin ribbon that held my performance mask in place. When I opened my eyes, I beheld my son gingerly holding my mask, not looking at the front but pensively examining the way I saw it—from the back. Slowly he raised it, touching the mask to his face, then stiffly, he lowered it. A slight tremble stole through him as he handed it back to me.

His voice was only a whisper, but I knew the courage it took to say those words. “I’m sorry, Father.”


	6. Chapter Six

_ **Chapter 6** _

_ **** _

Heavy clouds concealed the moon, casting the filth strewn alleyways in darkness. Seething through the bowels of the narrow cobbled streets, every manner of destitute mingled. Thugs and mountebanks, outright thieves and murderers … here their lawless ways dominated. Why shouldn’t they? Decades had passed since these once opulent streets had been abandoned, the moneyed masses fleeing uptown to fresher developments.

In these impoverished corridors, it took a fearless cunning to claw out an existence. Opportunities were rare and fleeting, often demanding great risk for a meager reward.

A hooded shadow of a man slid along the edges of the vile crowd. His hand rested uneasily upon the hilt of a gun, one finger poised on the trigger. This street was more active than usual tonight, amassing a greater percentage of drunken brutes itching for a fight.

He didn’t need that now. All he needed to do was slink unhindered through to the drop point. Hiding in plain sight, so they said. That was why they were here. That was why it had to be here. The constant commotion kept any curious investigations at bay. Especially from the law.

One more block, one more block without being accosted and he could go his merry way for the duration. Until his next set of instructions.

There it was! He recognized the corner just as the fist of a burly drunk crashed into the crumbling brick facade of the building. A moment later, there were two men devoid of any senses, bashing their fists into each other’s faces to a series of slurred insults.

_Great. And they’re attracting a crowd!_

Sliding around the edges of the massing gawkers, the hooded man tightened his grip on the trigger. So close, so close! The fighters stumbled nearer, their swings carried close enough to grasp the edge of his cloak.

_Damn it! Get out of the way!_

With a rough kick, he sent the smaller of the two brawlers into the wall, knocking him unconscious. Without a word, he tugged the hood down a little further over his face and proceeded to round the corner to the rowdy cheers of the crowd.

In the deserted corridor, he relaxed his grip on the weapon. Removing a piece of chalk from his coat pocket he walked along the darkened side of an old run down building. At last, coming to a small hidden niche under a loose brick.

Pulling the brick out he scribbled two short words on it.

_I’m in._

Painstakingly, so as not to disrupt his message, he pushed the brick back into place before turning on a heel and resuming his guarded grip upon the gun.

Pulling the hood down, his eyes searched the crowd as he stepped over the body of the unconscious drunkard. Good, no one had cared about his passage. No one was watching.

Drifting along the buildings he vanished into the crowd … until next time.


	7. Chapter Seven

_ **Chapter 7** _

_ **** _

Numbers ran through my head, a collection of calculations ever forming a solution as I took the stone stairs up to my study. I removed the silver compass from my pocket, biting into the fresh apple I had stolen from my kitchen on the way through the house. The fresh sweet juice trickled down my throat with the promise of renewed energy. Of late, I was reluctant to admit to feeling the effects of having spread my attentions in contracting a little thin. Too many deadlines approaching before the bite of winter shut out the ability to work outside. Originally the deadlines had been staggered, however unforeseen developments and delays had caused an organized arrangement to degrade into a hardly manageable mess. Perhaps I had been a little ambitious in promises of my hand personally working details throughout the far-flung projects. I had no choice but to resort to snatching food throughout the day like a street urchin. Barely was I left time to actually sit down to eat a single meal, especially around my duties as a musician. Which reminded me, I had vocal lessons to instruct later today for some of the Oratorio Society members. Whether or not it was wise, today I decided to avoid the risk of wielding a mallet and chisel in my hands at a work site and instead stole a moment for myself in a critical effort to seize control. I knew all too well that my temper was never more dangerous then when I was overly stressed.

Placing the partially eaten apple on my desk, I pulled out the old drafts and a fresh piece of lead, swiftly jotting down the measurements lest I forget them. Time settles buildings, even those made of stone. My own mansion had been no exception to this universal rule, and my current plan required accurate measurements. Feverishly I began to sketch on the existing vellum, drafting at a maddening pace between quick bites from the piece of fruit. I had nearly completed the first angle of the sketch when I overheard their voices issuing from the attached bedchamber. Before, it had been but background noises.

“I just don’t know what to do, Mother.” Charles’s voice was still the higher pitch of youth. Rapidly my son was approaching adolescence, this fall would be his fourteenth birthday.

Christine’s reply was reflective. “You’re not alone in those feelings, my darling. You need to make sure in your heart what you feel.”

“That’s it.” His frustrated voice called back. “I’m not sure what I feel for her. It’s just so strange. Whenever she’s around I just … just … ”

“Feel your world turn upside down?” Her wistful voice ended in a chuckle. “That’s the way your father makes me feel whenever he is around.”

I smiled as my hand continued working on my draft. Indeed that feeling was entirely mutual.

“It’s embarrassing.” He sighed. “When I’m at Dario’s house the other boys noticed whenever his sister Simonetta walks by … they say I turn all red, and can’t talk!”

So, my son discovered that most potent of powers; love. I felt sorry for him to have stumbled upon it so soon. I only hoped the young lass was worthy of his heart.

“Does she do the same when you are near?” My sweet Christine inquired.

“She barely knows I exist. Mother, how can I know if she has any feelings for me if she barely even sees me?”

Sketching out the next few lines on the draft, I could not help but remember those months at the Opera House in Paris that I spent hidden behind a mirror, vocally coaching Christine. She never saw me, and yet somehow her heart knew our bond. Vision is not essential for love to be true. The heart simply knows.

She replied knowingly, “My brave young suitor, there will be a number of years before you can even begin to call upon her. However, there are ways to earn her gaze now.”

After a lengthy pause, I heard Charles stand and begin to pace the floor. “There is one way. Mother, I know that school will be starting soon, but I just wanted to ask.”

Christine chuckled in reply. “You are going back to Harkness Academy, young man. If that is the question, do not even dare to ask it.”

“It’s not.” He replied almost frantically. “It’s just that, well, it is almost my birthday and I wanted to ask if you think Father would get me a horse of my own this year. If I had a horse she would see me for certain.”

A moment’s silence caused the lead in my left hand to cease movement. _Charles had mentioned me_ … my attention was now fully focused on the conversation behind the half closed door.

“A horse.” Her voice grew ever more pensive as she continued. “They require a lot of care, and are rather expensive.”

“He has a whole stable full. What is one more?” The boy tried to reason.

I heard the creak of the mattress, likely Christine had sat down in thought. Silently I made my way towards the door, drawn by insatiable curiosity as to where this conversation was leading.

“It’s not that, my darling.” She sighed. “It’s difficult to explain … why.”

Charles huffed a short breath. “Not this again, Mother. I hate it that I have to be so careful what I mention around him! He’s a grown man! Why is it such trouble to ask for a certain present for my birthday?”

Peering through the crack in the doorway I could see her downcast eyes as she sat upon the bed. Her gaze locked on the wedding band around her finger. “I’m not sure I even understand completely, Charles. But Erik doesn’t even celebrate his own birthday.”

“Why not?” He asked seriously, just out of my line of sight.

“I suspect … ” She glanced up at him. “I suspect he doesn’t even know when it was.”

Gently, I placed a hand on the door and pushed it open. My wife and son looked up, alarmed to learn someone else had been privy to their words. Christine rapidly turned away in what I suspected was shame for her admission. I had to swallow the lump in my throat before I found my voice. “I have some vague idea, my dear. But I cannot say the memory associated with it bears anything worth celebrating.”

“You remember everything, dates and numbers.” Charles took a step forward. “You mean your mother never held a birthday party for you to know when it was?”

Christine looked up at me, intense worry in her eyes that always lingered there whenever certain parts of the past became part of any conversation. “You never spoke of it.”

Leaning heavily against the door frame, I brought my hands up, studying the age old signs of that tragic day that were visible if one knew what they were looking for. “I never had cause to speak of what my mother had done, and it is hardly a day I relish reliving.” With a sigh, I closed my eyes trying to quell the pain enough to recall the details. My loved ones should know of this. It would help explain a lot for them. “Charles, I do not speak much of my childhood for many reasons. I have shown you the face that fate cursed me with, the reason for my mask.” My hand tightened on the frame behind me. “My birth was no cause for celebration, and yet the summer of my fifth year for some reason only known to her, my mother chose to mark the occasion. The specific date is lost to my memory, I only recall the vague mentioning that it was my fifth birthday.”

My son’s eyes were rapt upon me as he took a few steps to the bed and sat down beside his mother. Sweet Christine, my beloved wife. I had to steel my resolve to continue, for her physical resemblance to my mother was astonishing.

“I had asked her for some petty thing which she had refused. The one and only time she would mark my birth and gift me with a present and she utterly denied me my request.”

Charles sat forward, “What was it?”

The door frame was progressively acquiring more of my weight now as I shook my head, I would not tell him. I could not even bear the memory of that simple request. Pushing the pain aside, I took a deep breath and went on. “It matters not now, Charles. It is what happened next that changed things forever.”

“Erik.” Christine reached out to me from across the room, “You don’t have to do this.”

Bitterly I laughed, trying in vain to make the mood a little lighter. “No, my dear. I believe I do.” The silver compass entered my hand from my pocket, restlessly I turned it around in circles as I continued the tale. “Out of spite, I came downstairs to dinner without my mask, frightening my mother’s only friend nearly to death and inducing a fit of rage from my mother. Screaming like a banshee, she dragged me upstairs before a mirror for the first time in my life to show me the reason why I was unfit to be seen by the world. I do not think for a moment she considered what she had done. In that tortured vision, I stared fully into the burden I would be forced to carry my entire life. Young as I was, that mirror did not stand a chance against my deranged fit of terror.”

On the bed Charles’s mouth opened wordlessly.

Holding out my now empty hand towards Christine, I cast my weary gaze upon her. “You asked me long ago where these scars came from. Now you know. It was my revelation as to what I truly was. That day, my mother’s only present to me was to scar me forever, and it was not even her hands that bound my wounds. She would have let me bleed to death.”

Slowly, Christine got up and crossed the room, her arms encircling and pulling me into her warm embrace. “I understand now. I did not wish to ask why it was you were always absent from the parties. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Gently she kissed my neck. Did she know _that_ had been my request that tragic day all those years ago?

“Honestly.” I leaned back to gaze into her eyes. “I was not ready to tell you that was what had left me so uncomfortable. It had been my intention not to disrupt your festivities on account of me.”

Running his finger over the coverlet, Charles looked thoughtfully down at his lap. “That’s terrible, what she did to you. Father, we should throw you a big party to make up for it.”

I held up my hands, the silver compass once more entangled in the fingers of my left hand. “The intention is very much appreciated, though I would rather you did not. Do not worry, just because mine is no cause for celebration does not mean yours is not.”

His eyes caught the object in my hand studying it with an intensity that brought him across the room to view it better. “Father, was this a gift?”

Letting him examine it I nodded. “Indeed, it was. From a man who gifted me with grand skills. It was he who taught me how to carve out of stone the visions in my drafts. I owe Giovanni more than I can ever repay him for the gift he gave me.”

“This tool?” Charles looked up pensively.

With a shake of my head, I reclaimed the small object. “Not just this, which he left to me shortly before we parted ways, but what this compass represents. The gift of a purpose.” Turning my right hand over I showed him my silver signet ring riding on my smallest finger, letting his eyes see the elegant sweep of my only initial looping around an angled feather quill with Giovanni’s silver compass standing behind it. The foundations of my realized life: architecture and music.

Lost in thought, Charles silently walked out into my study. After a quick searching sweep of the room, he left for his own. I was aware of Christine’s eyes studying me, lines deep with worry. Not even waiting for her question, I placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled as confidently as I could. “Do not fret, my dear. You needed to know eventually, I only wish I had been able to share that sooner. It may have helped smooth over a few hard feelings.”

As we approached the desk, she offered me a hesitant smile. “It’s alright, Erik.” Her eyes followed my hand as it reached for the apple laying beside the plans. “Your current project? I thought you were working on the latest addition to the Ballard mansion. What was it you said they wanted now? A reptile room?” Taking a bite from the apple, I tried to cover the draft before she could see it. My efforts resulted in her reaching under the papers and pulling it back out again. “Erik, is this the draft for your music room?”

“Yes.” I replied after swallowing the mouthful, the silver compass spinning in my left hand.

Her eyes glanced from the draft up to my eyes. “Is this a pipe organ? Are you serious? A pipe organ in your music room?”

I smiled tensely before taking the page back. “Yes it is, and yes I am. I grow weary of borrowing the one at Carnegie Hall. So I shall be installing my own here.”

“How?” Her eyebrows cocked in that curious way when she knew the question became rhetorical in my presence.

Spreading the page out on the desk, I picked up the lead and went back to work once more. “I am still working on the details, but more or less I can make it fit with a little renovating. Winter will slow down the construction elsewhere affording me time here.”

“Erik.”

“Mmm?” I did not turn from the draft as my fingers brought forth the longstanding dream within my head.

“Would it make any difference if I said no?”

The next row of pipes took shape as I replied dryly, “What do you think?”

“Something is bothering you.” Her hands reached down, landing softly on my shoulders. She started to massage them through my robe. Oh, this made it difficult to work! The sensation was one I did not wish to draw away from, yet I could not draft as she was doing this. Crafty little minx! “What is it, Erik? Don’t tell me it’s still the audition. That was days ago. Surely your temper has cooled by now.”

When my hand visibly tightened on the lead she had her answer.

Her efforts to relax the tension in my muscles increased. “You admitted it yourself, he was talented on your piece.”

“Reiniger!” I snarled, slapping the lead down on top of my desk. “It is not a matter of the man lacking talent, Christine. Second chair should have gone to one of the men already in the Symphony Society.”

Calmly, she continued,“But he fulfilled the requirements when he played your piece in the hall. Damrosch even agreed that no one had ever said those outside the symphony could not try.”

“An unfortunate oversight.” I leaned back into her hands. “The gall of that man! Did you hear him the other day at the rehearsal? Apparently he attended the Harper performance and had quite a lot to say about it. Among other remarks, he called it quaint and amateurish!”

“That was far from amateurish.” Swinging around the front of my chair to face me and practically climbing into my lap, Christine smiled sweetly. “What would he know? Erik, the man is likely jealous of you. Let him be, he probably has a long road ahead of him to be worthy of a true first chair. Honestly, the man has the makings of a first rate prima donna.”

The sudden vision of the burly German attired in a frilly lace trimmed evening gown stamping his feet caused me to laugh.

Her bright blue eyes winked back at me as she continued. “Would you like me to locate him and offer lessons on how to throw a proper tantrum? How to demand not going on? How to stamp ones feet until one gets their way? After all, I sang alongside la Carlotta, the grandest diva known to the Paris stages.”

I shook my head, still chuckling. “I shall never see Reiniger in the same way again thanks to you, my dear. I do believe a nice powder blue gown should suit him quite well. My textile mills just ran a gorgeous taffeta. Shall I commission it for him?”

“Erik!”

Holding up a hand, I grinned back. “You are quite right, if I show him favoritism the others might get jealous. We would not want that, would we?”

Lying her head against my chest she ran her fingers up and down the black silk. “Are you better now?”

I sighed, still smiling softly. “Yes. I am better now.”

“You can let it go?”

“For now I can overlook the man’s lack of manners.” Kissing the top of her head I held her tightly. “Thank you for telling me what I needed to hear.”

“You get so tense.” She wove her fingers with mine. “It shows in every motion you make when something is getting to you. The stiffness looks so exhausting to maintain all the time. I like it better when you are relaxed and laughing. When you tell amusing stories. If I could keep you this way … ”

Squeezing her hand, I laid my head back and sighed. “If I could stay this way I should be content. At least I have you to remind me when I am letting the darkness overshadow the light.”

“Is it easier now?”

Rubbing the back of her neck, I chuckled softly. “That goes without saying. Now, I desperately need to get some work done before some appointments this afternoon.”

“Erik.” Her hand reached up and brushed against my jawline. “I know you are busy, but tonight would you play for me?”

Hugging her tightly to me I nodded. “Whatever you wish, my Angel. You have but to ask.”


	8. Chapter Eight

_ **Chapter 8** _

_ **** _

“I’m uncertain which should have been worse.” A constant tone filled my study as Damrosch ran his finger around the rim of the wineglass. “Can you imagine it? A dinner party with the Vanderbilts and to have fallen up the front stairs on entering. I am only glad it had not been me. The fall is bad enough but to spend the entire evening to the rumors of whether or not you are inebriated … ” The sound ceased as he leaned forward on the couch opposite me. “Erik, are you even listening to me?”

I muttered a non-committal sound from where I fully reclined on the long sofa. For the last quarter of an hour Damrosch had been bending my ear about some social event I declined to attend as though it should be my grandest care in the world. Though I heard him, I was scarcely listening as my half-lidded eyes watched the setting sun’s rays painting the sky. My thoughts were carried elsewhere as I reached over the back of the sofa to the plate of fresh fruit specifically brought up from the kitchens for my company. Idly, I let the juices run down my throat as I savored the sweet pulp.

Damrosch closed his eyes. Holding out his wine glass, he swirled it in the dying daylight. “Preoccupied, as always of late. What are you doing in that head of yours?”

“Composing.” I replied, releasing my hand to the flow of the music only I seemed to hear. Cutting flowing arcs in the air under the influence of the soaring swells, I enjoyed watching his figure fall back against the couch.

“It all just comes together in your head? Just like that, you can hear the entire piece?”

“Of course not.” Taking a sip of my white wine, I felt the chill in the evening breeze drifting from the open balcony. “Melodies and harmonies flow together, built upon the music in the world around us. That is why life experience is at the core of every great composition. Such journeys do not simply blink into existence. Thus, expecting that of music, displays a remarkable shortsightedness.”

He rose and walked across the room to the Steinway where a few pages of red inked vellum lay, parts of my latest unnamed composition. His eyes roved over the notes. “You are a font of music. Somehow you have tapped into the divine symphony of the world.”

I only smiled as I procured another piece of fruit from the platter.

“This is truly astonishing.” Shifting a page of vellum aside to expose another part, he devoured each stanza. “I should love to know what inspires something of such delicate complexity.”

A flutter of wings carried through the open balcony. A small brown bird flew into the room. His talons plucked the offered fruit from my hand before he perched upon the music stand. His beak worked nimbly to prize apart the fleshy fruit before turning his black eyes to study me.

Damrosch stiffened at the intrusion. “Erik. There is a bird in your study.”

“How very observant you are, Damrosch.” Holding out my hand, I waited only a moment before the little creature alighted onto my finger. His weight barely registered as he flicked his tail.

“Does this happen often?” He took a step toward the sofa, studying the little bird as I stroked his head.

“Most nights, yes.” I felt the thrum in his throat as I teased the feathers. “He’s partial to plums.”

“A grown man,” Damrosch whispered, “playing with a wild bird. With such a distraction is it any wonder the composition is coming so slowly.”

I did not deign to offer him a reply. Softly, I began to hum and within the stanza the little bird upon my finger opened his throat and began to trill his own beautiful harmony. Our voices blended.

Damrosch took a staggering step toward me, his eyes darted back to the vellum on the piano before his jaw fell open. He only found his voice after the little bird fell silent, rewarded by another small piece of fruit.

“But … ,” he stammered. “How can this be? Did you teach the bird to sing your piece?”

“On the contrary.” My finger ran down the back of my little friend, he arched into the stroke quivering with delight. “The nightingale has taught his song to me.”

Coming back over to the couch, Damrosch resumed his seat, studying the little bird as he trilled contentedly. “Extraordinary. What would make a wild bird fly into your study each night? Surely it is not simply for a free meal.”

The nightingale flicked his wings before hoping to the rim of my wineglass. I watched him dip a piece of plum into the liquid before gulping it down.

“It is gratitude that brings him to me.”

“Gratitude?”

I nodded as much as I could whilst lying on my back. “Indeed, gratitude.”

“What would a bird be grateful to a human for?” He scratched his head.

“How many nightingale’s have you seen in America, my dear Damrosch?” I asked, already knowing what his reply would be, thus I did not wait for it. “Nightingales are not native to America, they are from Europe and Asia. The only way one should find its way to these shores is the cage of bird seller. I was in desperate need of some inspiration when I found my feet had carried me into a bazaar. His pleading song stole my attention. Immediately I bought him and once in my home I opened the door and let him fly. This curious little fellow did not leave right away. Instead, he perched upon that music stand to sing his gratitude. I was blessed to find he remained there while I sat at my piano, inspired by the beauty of his song. I dare say he has found a home somewhere nearby, perhaps up in my garden or in Central Park, for he returns most of the evenings to sing for me.”

This plain looking little bird trilled out his song joyously, flicking his tail as he hopped from the rim of my glass to my waiting finger.

“But I am no emperor, little nightingale.” I whispered. “I am but a pauper to your skill.”

Damrosch cocked his head. “Emperor?”

“You are unfamiliar with Hans Christian Anderson?” When his expression remained blank, I resumed petting the little bird as he pressed himself against my fingers. “He wrote a splendid tale about this remarkable creature. The Chinese emperor collected everything of the grandest beauty within his kingdom. He came to learn of the nightingale who lived in his forest. Once she was lured to his court she sang for him, her song producing great tears from the emperor’s eyes. She decreed that his tears were enough for her songstress heart. However, the emperor would not let the nightingale go. Though she was to be honored, she was caged and unable to fly without servants holding silken threads to keep her captive. She was in misery, yet still continued to sing till her throat ran dry. One day, the emperor was gifted with a mechanical nightingale bejeweled and marvelous. However this bird’s song was always the same, unlike the living nightingale. When the two were requested to sing together, the court preferred the mechanical bird. Heartbroken, the live bird flew back to the forest. Years passed, the mechanical bird wore down. Without the joyous music, the emperor fell ill. While staring Death in face, with the demons of all his past deeds weighing on him, the live nightingale returned and sang to placate Death. He turned away and the emperor recovered his health immediately. Though he begged the bird to stay, she refused to be bound once more for her song could not be caged.”

The nightingale on my finger burst forth in song, stretching his wings as he flew over to perch atop what had once been his cage. Christine had fitted it for a tasteful floral arrangement.

“They do not belong in cages. Their song loses substance.” I pushed up from the couch, striding across the room towards the piano. “Music is organic. It is life. Like a river, it cannot be left to stagnate, but must be ever flowing.”

Leaning over, I let my hands bring forth a part of the composition. To my delight, the little nightingale joined in adding his own masterful part to weave in and out of the framework I provided. It felt so complete, so alive as the notes swelled and soared. Raw and unhindered by any measured count, this was pure feeling as twin spirits engaged in a flight to the heavens.

When we had finished, I turned to the little bird and placing a hand to my heart, I offered him a full bow. “My thanks to you.”

The nightingale trilled back, flying over to the platter to help himself to one last piece of plum before his wings carried him out into the starlit sky.

“Inspired by a plain brown bird.” Damrosch uttered with wonder.

I shook my head. “That is the greatest sin of the world, to not see the true worth of something based upon its plumage. For if that were any true gauge of merit, the peacock should be in the possession of the most alluring voice instead of sounding like an inebriated violinist.”

As I stole a glance at him, I saw him blanch before he looked away. Drifting back to examining the sheets of red-inked vellum strewn over the piano, he picked one up and began to hum the viola part. “Intriguing, this is not the same piece you handed out for the audition segment. This one appears to have a different tempo.” Searching through the pages, he at last set the vellum down and inquired, “Does it have a name yet? The entire composition, I mean.”

Taking up my wine glass, I swirled the fine white relishing in forcing Damrosch to wait for my reply. “These things take time, my dear friend. When I am certain of the title I shall reveal it to you. For now you must be patient.”

Consuming the remainder of the wine in his glass, Damrosch tried to conceal his disappointment while searching for a rare vacant place to set the empty vessel. “Need I remind you tomorrow evening there is the benefit gala at Carnegie Hall. I trust you will be there.”

“Of course.” I replied. My fingers silently stroked the piano keys of the next movement composing itself in my mind. “I shall be at the hall tomorrow most of the day, first the Symphony Society rehearsal and then on to giving lessons. Among them there is a new student who has taken great pains to schedule with me.”

“New?”

“Yes. Mademoiselle Sile Flanagan, she joined the Oratorio Society earlier this spring.” Picking up the quill and a fresh sheet of vellum, I proceeded to place the notes upon the staff I had inked ahead of time. “I only promised her one session as I have not heard her voice alone. She is young, but her speaking voice hints of a modest quality. The Irish lilt she possesses makes it difficult to discern the singing voice without actually hearing it.”

He nodded firmly. “Well then, I shall see you at the hall tomorrow.”

I did not reply as note after note bled out upon the page. My heart kept the tempo as my lifeblood flowed out of me and onto the vellum. In my mind, the elegant trill of the nightingale echoed.

* * * * *

My bow flew over the strings in the driving fury of the music. For the whole of this rehearsal Damrosch was taking everything at a lively clip. Thriving in the flurry of notes, I could not help but smile at the exercise. Around me, the rest of the musicians poured out the score in a torrential downpour of notes. It was exhilarating. Until Damrosch waved to stop.

“That was sounding good. But there was a slight timing issue in the second violins. Can I have just the second violinists from the coda please.”

Resting my violin on my knee I listened as Damrosch brought them in from the slower segment. For his benefit, I was keenly interested in picking out wherever the problem lie. As the speed began to pick up, I felt a weight bump up against my right side. Glancing down I discovered my coat pocket swinging, the weight of my concealed object causing it to continue the slow arc.

My right pocket, the one on the front edge of the stage. Nothing beside me could have disturbed it. That only left behind me.

Slowly, I turned around to find Reiniger waxing his bow for the third time in this rehearsal. Odd. When he noticed my curious stare, he smiled.

Turning back around I resumed listening to the second violinists only to have Reiniger lean on my right shoulder and whisper into my ear, “Say, even though you don’t need the sheet music, don’t you think it makes you look a little cocky by not even having it on your stand? I mean it makes the rest of us look bad.”

I flicked my bow in the air to dismiss him. A signal the man blatantly ignored as he leaned heavier upon my shoulder, swinging his bow back and forth by my side. Each pendulum swing grated further on my nerves. This man was rather rudely invading my space.

Blissfully he whispered on. “I don’t need the music either. But for the sake of the other musicians’ reputations I at least pretend to use it.”

The bow swung back and forth. In and out of my vision, brushing against my side at intervals.

Sliding a cold glare back at Reiniger, I released a tense whisper, “Sit back down and conduct yourself with decorum. This is a rehearsal.”

He shrugged and glanced at the other violin section. “Aww, we don’t need to pay attention right now. It’s the less talented violinists turn.”

The longer he hung on my shoulder insulting the others, the more aggravated I became. Never had I been comfortable with strangers dwelling within arms length. Come on, Damrosch! Finish and bring us back in so I don’t have to snap my bow at this creep.

Keeping my voice down, I replied, “I am amused Reiniger, that you claimed to have been a first chair violinist. Your conduct is highly unbecoming.” Turning back to the second chairs I tried unsuccessfully to shrug him off my shoulder. “Sit down now, before you have an accident.”

Chuckling softly, he leaned a little further along the stage edge eyeing my violin. “Is that a real Stradivarius?”

In a swift flick, I brought my bow up in a swat against the fingers on my shoulder. The hand instantly disengaged as he slid back, hissing quietly in obvious pain. I hid a chuckle as I heard his chair slide back ever so slightly under his weight. Good, now stay put!

Damrosch tapped his baton on the stand. “Excellent. I think that fixed it. Everyone, please come in at the coda.”

We were about halfway through when Damrosch signaled a stop. Glancing behind me, he narrowed his eyes. “Reiniger, your timing is sluggish.”

“I … ” he stuttered.

Everyone turned and stared at him, myself included. The others were looking in disbelief. I gave him a barely concealed punishing glare.

“I am sorry.” He bobbed his head. “Maestro Damrosch, I was distracted.”

I gave him a slow smile. “Perhaps it would help Herr Reiniger if his music was on the proper page.”

He swallowed and reached forward to slowly the turn the pages of the score. “My apologies to everyone. Please, continue Maestro Damrosch.”

Swinging back to face Damrosch, I nodded up to him, waiting for the baton to bring us back in. Reiniger would think twice before laying a hand upon me again.

* * * * *

“A little more support.” My fingers drew forth the next octave exercise. “That was a little better. One more.” I listened as Mademoiselle Flanagan’s voice floated up into the higher notes of her register. The tone wavered, signaling the natural limitation of her range. As I withdrew my hands from the piano, I watched the young lady rock back on her heels eagerly.

“Well Maestro Erik, how is my voice? Do you find it pleasing?” Her Irish lilt, that had been entirely banished in the pure sung vowels, returned as she addressed me.

I turned around on the piano bench. “Your range is quite adequate for a second soprano.” Refastening the cufflink that had come loose while I played, I was glad on this warm summer day I had removed my coat halfway through today’s music sessions. Even with the lights on reduced power the heat was rising. “With some work there are hints that a few more notes may be within your reach. The tone is pure, only tending to flat when you are reaching the end of your support. Breath control exercises will be your most important focus.”

“Breath control?” She was closer when I looked up, a blush rising on her cheeks. “Maestro Erik, perhaps it is because I am breathless around you.”

“Mademoiselle.” Leaning back I held up a hand. What had come over her? There was no glaze to her eyes. I had not sung to entrance this young woman. Nor would I dare! Everyone knew I worshiped Christine and she would be here any moment for us to attend the gala. “Mademoiselle, please that is not what I intended.”

“Does it matter?” She flicked a stray strand of hair and smiled coyly as she closed in the space.

I felt my back against the piano as she leaned over me, the curls of her fiery red hair brushing against my mask. A bead of cold sweat trickled down my neck.

“Oh Maestro Erik, you’re so talented and mysterious. Won’t you sing for me? Sing only for me? I have loved you from the moment your voice fused with my soul.”

“Mademoiselle! This is most inappropriate!” I hesitated to reach up, as she pressed in upon my space, for there was no safe place for me to push her away. “I am a married man!”

She laughed as her knee rested on the bench between my legs. I could feel her breath against my neck as she loomed over me. I froze as her hand embraced the back of my neck. “That never bothered me. You know you love me. Now kiss me!”

So close to me, I felt the thump of my heart racing as she leaned forward to brush her lips against mine. Pressed up against the piano I had nowhere to escape her advances.

“Erik!” Christine’s enraged voice exploded through the recital hall.

Shoving against the young woman’s body, I overbalanced and fell off the bench onto the stage, beside me Mademoiselle Flanagan landed in a heap. Hastily I scrambled to my feet, holding up a hand to my wife’s retreating form. “Christine! Angel! Wait!” But my cries went unheeded as she stormed out. I did not catch up to her until we were in an outside hallway. Hot tears streamed down her face.

“What was that?” She spat furiously. “Don’t you dare tell me it was some rehearsal, Erik!”

Taking her hand, I tried to hold onto it as she yanked it back. “My love, I do not know what came over her. Please,” I pleaded trying to sort out what had transpired, “I cannot explain what happened to Mademoiselle Flanagan.”

“You sang to her, didn’t you!” She stiffened. “Didn’t you!”

“No!” I reached out once more desperately trying to embrace her, but she retreated from me in her fury. “Of course I did not. My darling, I know better than to do such a thing. Only to you, only to you should I ever sing. I assure you I have no feelings toward the young lady. Nor any other woman on the whole of the earth.”

When she still refused my advance, I took a knee before her.

“Christine, my beloved angel, my heart and soul are ever in your hands. If ever you should hide your gracious light from my presence my spirit should wither and die. Please, please gaze upon your husband and know that he speaks the truth ever in your gaze.” I knew I was groveling, but for her I would do anything.

Taking a deep breath, she released it slowly before looking at me, her frame softening only slightly. “You swear to me, Erik, you swear that was nothing?”

I embraced her hand and kissed it right above the gold ring. “I swear in every tongue known to me, _mon chéri_.”

Her hand traced my jawline beneath the mask, I shivered at her contact.

Climbing to my feet, I reached out and wiped away her tears. “Come now, banish the signs of this unfortunate misunderstanding. There is revelry to be had shortly. Damrosch shall want us to be merry this eve. I assure you, I shall never instruct Mademoiselle Flanagan again. Her advances were entirely uncalled for. Now, shall we proceed?”

“Erik, dear.” She reached out and straightened my cravat. “You may wish to fetch your coat.”

Glancing down I noted I was only in my vest and shirt. “It should be on the edge of the bench.” We entered the hall together to find it empty. Glancing around, I carefully shrugged into my coat wondering where Mademoiselle Flanagan had gone to. Likely she had been embarrassed by her behavior and dashed off. I would be surprised to see her at the gala.

Presenting my arm to Christine, I bowed. “Let us speak no more of what transpired here. I am to understand that Damrosch has selected an excellent Riesling for the festivities.”

Christine reached over and brushed the pocket where my hidden wine bottle lay in wait. “Will you ever partake of someone else’s generosity?”

Squeezing her hand, I shook my head. “Never after Persia, my love. The world is full of devious people, and nothing hides an assassin more thoroughly than civilized veneer presenting a glass of fine wine.”

* * * * *

“I take it the benefit gala was a success?” Nadir leaned against the door frame of my music room where Christine was searching the shelves for my copy of Mozart’s _Magic Flute_.

“My dear.” I gestured toward the bookcase by the harp. “I trust you shall find that score somewhere in that case.” Turning back to Nadir, I shed my cloak and flung it on a chair. “Another fine gathering of New York’s upper crust. Once the wine was flowing sufficient to lubricate their _generous_ spirits, Damrosch found the ability to enjoy himself.”

“And the goal?” His eyebrows raised.

“From the best I could estimate, we reached it. This means that for once the elite parents in the community are fulfilling the obligation to support their children’s art. The youth festival will indeed proceed with all the intended pageantry.”

Laughing quietly, Nadir bowed his head. “I should have known you would find some way to goad them into being involved.”

Eyeing Christine in her search, I offered my old friend a conspiratorial wink. “I believe the words I used in my toast were ‘an investment to their future’. As it turns out, much of the talented youth in this community have fathers involved in the stock-market.”

“Thus, your brilliant strategy.” Christine remarked as she reached for the score and snatched it from the shelf. “Here it is. Now I can prove to that uncultured Madame Wexworth that she was wrong.”

Entering the room, Nadir cocked his head. “I take it there were some animated discussions?” He observed the score in her hand. “Erik, did you not settle it?”

“There was no need.” I laid my hand upon Christine’s shoulder. “My lovely wife had a perfect recollection of the lyrics. Even if Madame Wexworth chose not to believe her. I am telling you, Nadir, you would have enjoyed the evening.”

Wearily he rubbed his eyes. “Erik, even though I am now quite fluent in English, I do not have the same gift of tongues as you do. Hundreds of voices speaking a non-native language at once becomes a taxing challenge.” He offered a smile. “Am I to understand that since you are in such a grand mood, Damrosch followed your suggestion and served something that was easy to replace?”

Plucking the empty bottle from my pocket I tossed it to him. “Yes, my own private Riesling was never detected nor required any adjustments.”

Closing the score, Christine glanced up at me with narrowed eyes. “Adjustments?”

Nadir set the bottle on a table and grinned. “So there are some secrets he still keeps from you.”

“I know that Erik tends to sneak his own wine into events. He told me of that party in Persia where someone tried to poison him, but you managed to nurse him back to health. But, what adjustments are you speaking of?”

I was about to speak up, when Nadir stepped across the room. “Your brilliant husband did not wish to insult the hospitality of those around him. Ever since a dinner party here in America, where a jealous man tried to foul the toast, he has played a trick to ensure his survival. Hidden in his dinner coat is a clever rack of vials meant to change how a basic white wine appears.” His hand darted into my pocket with a slight flinch as he found the hidden item and pulled it out. “Ah! See? He made little indentations on the top of the vials that feel different so he can make the changes without looking.”

I gently pried the rack out of his hand, dropping it back into my pocket. Christine’s wondering eyes followed it.

“Those long dinner parties with all the drinks … ”

“Yes, my dear. I spend the majority of my time secretly disguising my private stock as a whiskey or a champagne to match the others, so not to be socially awkward. If it wasn’t for my dexterity it would not work.”

“I wish you didn’t feel you needed to.” She laid a hand on my arm holding me close. “Who would want to harm you?”

Cupping her chin with my palm, I whispered, “The moment one drops his guard is the moment one finds himself in a trap. The caution is essential, my dear. I never wish to experience the anguish of poison again.”

“You’re still being paranoid.” She kissed me.

“Erik … ” Nadir intruded.

“Go away, Nadir.” Lost in her eyes, I held Christine a little tighter as she mock struggled to pull away. “You were rubbing your eyes, you are tired, old friend. Go to bed that I might be with my wife.”

“Erik … ” Once more Nadir’s voice intruded.

“Alright, I can take a hint. We’ll go upsta—”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Nadir’s body double over falling against the wall. Christine’s breath caught in her chest as I swooped down over the older Persian. “Nadir. Speak to me. Nadir. Open your eyes.” Laying a hand upon his skin it felt clammy, the pulse beneath it erratic. Prying open his eyes the pinpointed pupils stared back blindly.

Lifting his hand I smacked the back of it hard! The muscles barely reacted. Something hot dripped down my hand, blood. A trickle of crimson flowed from a small cut on his index finger. I realized slowly this was the hand he had reached into my pocket with.

Carefully, I tipped the pocket upside down allowing the rack of tubes to slide free into the floor. There, protruding out of the cork that sealed the red wine dye, was a small fang. I picked the vial up and noted that along with the sheen of Nadir’s fresh blood was a sticky residue. Was that a … what was the time frame when he placed his hand into my pocket? My heart nearly stopped. If I was right, we didn’t have much time.

Hefting Nadir’s limp form into my arms, I headed for his room next door. “Christine, keep him breathing! I need some things up in the laboratory.”

“What’s wrong with him?” She hastily opened the door for me.

“The better question would be who has access to a Caspian cobra?”


	9. Chapter Nine

_ **Chapter 9** _

_ **** _

The scent of Russian tea invaded my senses. I couldn’t help the slight jerk of my head as I opened my eyes to find I had nodded off in the stiff wicker chair.

Christine put a hand on my shoulder. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I was not sleeping. Just resting my eyes.” Stretching my legs, I found they had both fallen asleep, little tingles of needles stabbing inside my calf muscles.

Leaning over, she kissed the top of my head. “I brought you some tea since you didn’t come out for dinner. Has there been any improvement?”

Taking Nadir’s wrist from beneath the layered silks, I felt his sluggish pulse and the slightly feverish temperature. My fingernail purposefully dug into the skin just shy of drawing blood. There was barely a twinge of response. I did not have to say a word, my fallen shoulders said it all.

“How long does it take?” Drawing the cloth from Nadir’s forehead, Christine dipped into a nearby water jug and wrung it out. She replaced it upon his feverish brow.

“Depends upon the strength of the patient and their ability to clear out the paralytic venom.” I took out my pocket watch, grateful to find that sufficient time had passed. Picking up my old hypodermic syringe, I loaded the next dose of my home brewed anti-venom. “Nadir is fairly healthy, but his advanced age will not be to his advantage in recovering this time.”

She watched as I located a vein and slid the needle in. There were few times I could find a benefit to having once been a morphine addict. Nearly expertly, I injected the precious fluid that was my friend’s only chance of recovery. “Persia hardly lacked an abundance of particularly harmful creatures. Occasionally even a native was reckless enough to get stung or bit.”

Stroking his damp hair she inquired, “I cannot imagine Nadir doing so.”

A short laugh escaped me. “I warned him to be careful how he opened the box. And yet, he still blamed me for the scorpion sting.” Once more I felt his pulse, there was not much change. At least it wasn’t faltering, at this point he had managed to survive nearly twenty-four hours since the strong venom had entered his bloodstream, effectively paralyzing his voluntary functions. The anti-venom I had concocted, modified from an old Gypsy remedy, was succeeding in negating the poison from shutting down the signals for the critical body functions. It was still no guarantee he would live. Damn it, Nadir! Once more your grasping fingers have gotten you into trouble.

Christine reached down to rub my shoulders. I had failed to notice how much tension they were carrying. “Damrosch stopped by earlier. He was expecting to see you at some point at the hall today. I told him you were preoccupied with a very critical matter.”

“Thank you, my love.” Reaching up, I caressed her fingers.

“Will you be coming up to bed?” By her quiet tone, I knew she was aware of my answer.

“No. If he stops breathing, someone needs to be here. Last night was close enough. I had to thrash the breath back into him too many times to let him stop living now. I have not lectured the fool on trying to pick my pocket.”

“Erik.” Placing a finger beneath my chin she forced me to look at her. “Be kind to him, when he wakes don’t start by berating him. After all, he may have saved your life by reaching into your pocket. I certainly would not have guessed the source, let alone had even the faintest idea how to treat it. Would Nadir have known?”

I offered a shrug. “He may have recognized the symptoms. The remedy is within my journals up in the laboratory. So it is not beyond reason he may have come to the proper conclusion. The man is not entirely useless.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “Why do you never show Nadir how much you truly respect him?”

Reaching up, I pulled her down to me and kissed her on the lips. “Goodnight, my love.”

She offered a sigh at my obvious dismissal. Soundlessly she glided out the door leaving me alone in Nadir’s brightly adorned room.

Gulping the tea, I let my eyes drift over the décor influenced by his native land. Generally I respected his privacy, thus it had been only a handful of times in the last year I entered his chambers.

The man’s tastes differed significantly from mine. Where as I preferred the dark hues with subtle tonal weave patterns, the fabrics in Nadir’s chambers were an untamed riot of colors often mixed within the same piece. The beaded silks draped about the room caught the light and winked back the wall sconces warmth. Nadir did not have many possessions to his name. Having left the opulence of the court-life behind him, he had settled for a more humble existence. Though I tried to indulge him with payment for services rendered, often I would find the banknote tucked neatly back in my study. Living in my mansion gave him a roof, his meals, and his purpose; on a rare occasion he confided in me that was all he truly required.

Flicking my finger against a tassel hanging from the edge of his blanket, I let my thoughts drift back to Persia, to when our roles were reversed and I was a guest living in Nadir’s home. We’d been so much younger in those days, Nadir had been in his early twenties, and I likely just a few years younger by comparison. I had been a terrible guest in his beautiful home. My tendency to tinker and work through the night disrupted him a number of occasions. More than one of my experiments rendered damage to the structure … only some of which I had been able to repair without him being the wiser. To the rest, I typically managed to lay some evidence that one of his servants had been responsible. However, reviewing those by-gone days I have to wonder if he may have found the most intrusive habit of mine was my insatiable curiosity.

The Persian sun had been especially cruel that summer day. It was a rare stretch of time when the shah had not been demanding my presence at the court, and the construction of his new palace had not yet broken ground. Though I did not confess this to Nadir, I found his home much more accommodating than my rooms at the palace. Certainly, the shah’s gardens were elegant and meticulously well kept. However, Nadir’s rural home was secluded and his garden felt natural.

Near dawn, I had crept out for some fresh air before the heat of the day had presented itself. It had been a very pleasant walk indeed where it seemed every leaf I brushed aside concealed a new creature. Some of which I gently collected to study them for a time.

Later that morning, as I was restringing my violin I was summoned from my room by an alarmed series of screams. Without haste, I abandoned my violin to search out the source of the distress. Locating that source had not been hard.

“Erik! I swear if you are behind this!”

Standing in the arched doorway I leaned against it with a smile of amusement. Nadir balanced precariously upon a chair, around the leg of the chair were the coils of a Caspian cobra. The snake hissed each time Nadir’s poor balance rattled the chair. Some distance away the lidded basket lay on its side.

Upon spying me, Nadir’s rage turned to a plaintive cry. “For Allah’s sake, Erik! Don’t let that viper any closer! It nearly bit me!”

I laughed looking down at the coiled snake. “I wonder why he should have desired to bite you in the first place. He showed no interest in doing so to me earlier this morning.”

“Earlier?” Nadir fought to maintain his balance upon the piece of furniture.

“Well yes.” With a flick of a finger I gestured toward the basket. “When I managed to convince the fine fellow into your basket for the time being. He was most cooperative.”

“Erik!” His hand balled into a fist, striking the back of the chair. The vibration caused the snake below him to rear up and hiss. Nadir’s nervous squeal only made me laugh even harder. “Would you convince him to go back inside? Kindly get that thing out of my house! It shouldn’t have been in here in the first place!”

Sliding into the room, I produced the twig I had employed earlier. Nadir’s eyes widened as I gradually entered within the cobra’s striking range. The snake’s head reared up in challenge.

“Watch out! Don’t let him strike you, Erik! That’s a Caspian cobra, their poison is lethal.”

Toying with the twig before the snake, I spared an amused glance for Nadir. “It is only lethal if one is foolish enough to give the snake cause to strike.” Before the motion of the twig, the reptile swayed to the rhythm, entranced by the series of gestures. Coil by coil he unbound himself, drawn toward the irresistible movement. Ripples of motion carried his supple body as he courted the twig. I watched his tongue flick in and out of his mouth. He did not rear up to strike as I drew him away from Nadir and into my waiting hand.

All sound ceased for a long tense moment as the coils of the snake wrapped around my arm. To my amusement Nadir was holding his breath.

“Erik there is a highly poisonous snake on your arm.” He uttered tensely.

“I am aware of that, Nadir.” Observing the smooth scales and admiring the wide stripes on his throat, I felt the tongue kiss against my neck.

“Dear Allah! Do you enjoy flirting with death?”

“Death and I are old acquaintances, Daroga.” Gently guiding the snake, I brought him over to the basket and made a direct pathway for him to seek comfort from the intensifying heat. “That cobra had no desire to strike me. If anything, he wanted to mate with the twig I was holding.”

Now that the lid was on the basket, Nadir regained his composure as he climbed down off the chair. “Mate with a twig? Erik don’t be daft.”

“Try opening your eyes next time you are at a bazaar.” I picked up the basket with its precious cargo. Truly, it had been a little careless of me not to have placed him within my room to begin with. “Do not tell me you have never seen a snake charmer.”

He pointed at the basket. “That was not snake charming, that is done with music.”

I threw my head back in laughter. “Foolish Daroga! How can you ever pretend to be the eyes of the shah with that pathetic level of observance?”

“Everyone knows it is done with music!” He replied indignantly. “They use a punji.”

I nodded. “Yes, and aside from playing it, what else are they doing?” Slowly the realization dawned in his eyes. I gave a short laugh. “The motion is the only thing that matters to the cobra. The punji player could be tone deaf and as long as he can keep the snake aroused enough there is no danger.”

Nadir narrowed his eyes. “It really is a mating dance?”

“Did I not just show you that?” I turned on my heel and proceeded for the door.

“Erik, where are you going? Outside is that way!”

“I know, I’ll be in my room.” I was undeterred.

“You are not keeping that venomous cobra in a basket in my household!”

“Fine.” Setting the basket down I proceeded to lift the lid.

“No! Wait!”

“You have a choice—within the basket or without it. Which shall it be?”

Panic stricken, he eyed my hand as it hovered on the lid, an exploratory snake tongue flicked out. His shoulders dropped in defeat. “You win. But I never want to lay eyes upon that snake again.”

He didn’t. But I do not think he was aware of how many weeks I spent milking the little house-guest with a morbid curiosity of how such venom worked. Later on, the knowledge of the poison become invaluable in the execution pits. There was no toxin I knew with a faster manifestation.

A moan brought me back to the present. When I touched my fingers to Nadir’s palm his hand weakly closed.

“Well now, that’s an encouraging sign.” Reaching over to the table I picked up a small glass I had waiting. Pouring the bitter powder into it I swirled the mixture until it dissolved. Holding it to his lips, I rubbed his throat to help him swallow.

Nadir’s response was to gag on the foul tincture.

Just medicine, my dear friend. Not so many years ago he had used an inopportune moment to force me to surrender my vice of opium. That required a blatant lie about a nonexistent note in my laboratory journal, and a rather foul tasting tincture that he had not bothered to sweeten for me. I would not bother to sweeten his now.

“My dear, Daroga. After all this time, you chose now to try and pick my pocket and with such a shameful level of skill. I always told you I would teach you when you were ready. You had but to ask. Here you are, troubled again for your pains.”

He moaned as his fingers shifted.

Dropping the sarcasm from my voice I stilled his bandaged hand. “I am truly sorry, I had to burn your finger. The blister should heal soon enough. Do not fight too hard, my friend. While the venom’s hold is still ebbing you will not be able to move much.” Even though he could not see it, I smiled down at him. “At least we know you shall live now.”

Sitting back in the chair, I picked the now cleansed fang up from the table beside the supplies I had used to heal him. Turning the small bone around in my fingers, I pondered just how this little device had managed to become wedged in a place for my finger to find. There was only one day in recent times I had worn that coat … only the day of the gala. And only at Carnegie Hall.

My vigil continued throughout the night. It wasn’t until the early morning hours that Nadir’s eyes fluttered open to find me waiting with another tincture for him to drink.

“Ugh.” He protested weakly. “Please, not again.”

“Whether you want it or not, you need it. This will be substantially more pleasant if you take it willingly.” Leaning towards him, I waited for him decide how much of a fight he had to put into this.

With a weary sigh he rolled his head towards me. “Fine. But, could you at least make it taste better?”

Half the concoction slid down his throat before I remarked, “A little honey would help the flavor, but that thought never occurred to _you_ before, now did it.”

Gagging a bit, he narrowed his eyes up at me. It was good to make him think, see how long it took the memories to connect. “Your opium withdrawal?”

  
I nodded, setting the glass down. “How nice of you to be considerate of my sense of taste when I was racked with pain. Enough of the past, the present is far more troubling. I want you to grasp my hand as tightly as you can.”

“Why?” He lifted his hand and stared at the bandage on his finger. “What happened?”

“I always knew you to be a little slow.” I quipped. “I need to see how your muscles are clearing the poison introduced to you when you reached into my pocket after the vials.”

“Poison? What poison?”

“Your hand, Nadir.” I held mine out waiting to see how readily his muscles could coordinate motion in the space before him. He was clumsy and sluggish, hardly surprising for having fended off a state of temporary paralysis. It took him three tries to find my stationary hand before at last the palms met. His grip was more akin to a spasm, but there was strength to it. Good, the limb where it had entered his bloodstream was recovering. The cauterizing burn would need to heal, but in a few days time my old friend would be up and snooping about.

“You’re cold.” He complained. “Your skin is always so cold.”

With a laugh, I released his hand. “Good, that confirms there is no apparent nerve damage. Now you just need to rest and not reach into anyone else’s pockets without the proper training.”

“Erik.” His hand hovered above the blanket as he shifted the finger. “Poison, on your vials … how?”

Patting him on the shoulder, I stood up. “That is precisely what I mean to resolve now that your recovery has been ensured.”

* * * * *

“Reiniger.” I slammed my fist down on Damrosch’s desk. “It had to be! He was the only one who had been close enough.”

“Slow down, Erik, it doesn’t make sense. Why would Reiniger try to poison you?” Damrosch leaned back in his chair. “You look well enough.”

“I was not the one poisoned, Damrosch. Were you not listening?” I resumed pacing the room. “Nadir was the one who pricked his finger on the cobra fang. It was purposefully placed on the vial in my pocket rack, intended to turn a white wine red. Reiniger must have assumed I would have been using it at the gala.”

Damrosch’s eyes narrowed. “Why ever would he assume you would be making a white wine into a red? The gala wasn’t an event for magic tricks.”

Tossing my hand into the air. “Because that is how I get through every social affair without insulting the hosts. I dress up my own private bottle to appear to be what everyone else is drinking.”

“Why?”

Turning on my heel I exhaled. “It is an exceedingly long story. Suffice it to say it was meant to protect me from the very thing that happened to my friend.”

He scratched his head. “A poisoning? Erik, this is a little far-fetched. I didn’t realize you were still upset at Reiniger having taken the second chair, at least not so upset as to accuse him of trying to murder you.”

I stopped and slammed my hands on his desk. “He was the only one close enough to have been able to do it! The only one within reach of that pocket the entire day. It had to be him. That little stunt nearly killed Nadir.”

Closing his eyes, Damrosch took a deep breath before he calmly rose to his feet. “Erik, I am sorry your friend was ill.”

“Poisoned.” I corrected tersely.

He shook his head. “But this is all circumstantial. You have no direct proof that Reiniger had anything to do with it. He speaks very highly of you.”

“That is what they do.” Muttering, I felt my fingers tightening into a fist, clenching and un-clenching.

“What who do?”

“Assassins. Talk up their victims so that no one is the wiser.” I walked toward the door. “Mark my words, Damrosch, Reiniger had something to do with this.”

Collapsing back in his chair, he shook his head.


	10. Chapter Ten

_ **Chapter 10** _

_ **** _

It was a simple task, she had said. Anyone could do it, especially with her background. After all, it was how she had always earned her living. Tricking men into feeling they were something special was a speciality … normally reserved for between the sheets. There wasn’t a chance that anything could have gone wrong once he played into her hands. One job, then it was back to business as usual.

The clack of her heels advertised her presence as she walked up the stairs to her dismal apartment. The money had been good tonight, men crawled out of the woodwork with lust burning in their eyes. They fell into her arms, eager to lie in her embrace for however long their coin could buy. Shutting the door behind her, she kicked her shoes off and dropped her bright red shawl on the floor. Her back ached from lying on it. All she wanted to do was actually sleep. Sleep without a man running his fingers through her tangled hair telling her how much the color reminded him of strawberries.

Without turning on the lights, she padded into the bedroom toward the bed. Just crawl beneath the covers, be dead to the world for awhile.

Her hand sank into the mattress seeking the coolness of the sheets. Only they weren’t cold … there was a warmth to them. Groping into the shadows she felt something solid. Experience told her it was a man’s leg.

The door had been locked, how had he gotten in here? She only had a moment to contemplate that before she felt the barrel of the gun pressed against her neck.

“You were paid for your services, whore,” he whispered sternly.

This wasn’t the first time some customer had demanded a refund. Granted, it was the first time it had happened in _her_ bed. Reaching into her purse she sighed. “How much was it?” There was hardly an Irish lilt in her weary voice now.

“You failed to hit the proper mark.”

Why wouldn’t he lower the gun? What was wrong with this man? “Sweetheart, I am the best a man like you will ever sample. I don’t perform free sessions, so please just get out of my apartment.”

The gun pressed a little harder against her vein. “You were well compensated for playing the innocent little songbird. You had the plan all set out for you right to the final details. Do you know how long it took for them to learn of his secret? To learn of the hidden vials? Years. And many paid, vigilant eyes before someone got lucky enough to glimpse the con! You had one task to perform and the finger that found that fang was not his!”

Sile Flanagan swallowed. “I did everything the note instructed. Everything!”

“You left word the job had been completed.” He replied icily. “If that were so, he would not have been seen storming into Carnegie Hall this very morning! The man should be lying paralyzed, in a coma! Your failure compromises everything!”

“Please … ” She brought her hands before her in prayer. “I followed every instruction on the note!”

His finger pulled the trigger, releasing a shower of blood onto the sheets as her lifeless body slid back onto the floor. Stepping over her, he tucked the gun beneath his hooded cloak. “And now, so have I.”

Swinging out the open window, he dropped down the fire escape into the street below. Gun shots were not unusual in this neighborhood. Her body may not be found for days. Besides, who would miss her? There were plenty of cheap whores to go around Manhattan.


	11. Chapter Eleven

_ **Chapter 11** _

_ **** _

“Where the hell have you been?” Damrosch followed me into my office, shutting the door behind him to keep our words from being overheard by the throng packing Carnegie Hall’s corridors. “You are three hours late!”

Stripping off my cloak, I flung it unceremoniously upon the chair before adjusting the cravat I had hastily tied about my neck on my way over to the hall. “I know. Accept my apologies.”

“Erik, did you forget today is the Youth Music Festival? We have less than an hour!”

Straightening my vest, I spared him a weary glance. “I repeat, accept my apologies. The delay was unavoidable. This morning has already been a great deal longer than expected. Carnegie had another telegraph wire crisis that required my immediate attention. At the site of the Ballard mansion I had not anticipated the need to take up a chisel, nor the client requesting in person yet another alteration to the plan. On site, I was required to produce no less than four more drafts. By the time I had managed to excuse myself, I had no choice but to ride Faust as fast as his hooves could carry him from the work site. We are both lucky I had not fallen and broken my neck. Fortunately, Christine had seen fit to lay out my attire for me or I should have been even later than I am now. I am certain that marble dust is not the latest fashion.”

Leaning upon my desk, he hung his head. “I cannot believe you went up on the scaffolding to carve today. You know how much this event means to the hall.”

“Damrosch.” With a slight tug I pulled the edge of my sleeve enough to peak out from my coat. “Need I remind you that I am the master stone mason of Shadowcrest Industries. I have clients who are waiting for their homes to be constructed. That means that when a problem arises I need to make myself available to address it.”

He straightened up, eyeing me. “Need I remind you that you are _also_ the director of the arts here and that you made an honor bound promise that you would fulfill your duties to both Carnegie and myself. We’re in a pivotal year now and I need to know I can rely on you.”

“We have less than an hour.” Opening the door I was assaulted by all the noise. “We can discuss time management later.”

“Erik, wait a moment.” Catching up to me as we pushed through the group, he had to shout to be heard. “Is everything ready for after the festival? Please tell me you remembered the social for the children!”

I did not pause as we dropped down a flight of stairs. “Of course, I instructed the household staff on the festivities yesterday. My ballroom has been entirely prepared to receive them.” I huffed a short laugh. “Children, inside my home. Damrosch however did you convince me that was such a good idea?”

Checking the time, he rammed his pocket watch back into his vest. “Because your home is two blocks from the Hall and being the director of the arts it is a nice gesture for you to host. It was actually your wife’s idea.”

“Ahh.” Cutting across a back passage, I made for the recital hall where I knew the children would be gathering for the performance. “That explains a great deal of it, the ballroom hasn’t been used since the wedding. Of late the room has become part of a conversation no less than a few times.”

“Every time I see her at a social gathering, she seems to be enjoying herself. You have that gorgeous marble dance floor that never sees a celebration. It seems a shame.”

“Yes, yes.” I paused at the door to turn and face him. “Is there some secret ploy between you two to entice me into becoming a regular host? I can assure you that is not likely to happen. I am a man who enjoys privacy.”

Trying to find a few words, Damrosch fingered his gloves.

“Relax.” I laid a hand on his shoulder. “I am not upset about this in the least. Merely stating there are no promises of this becoming a scheduled occurrence.”

Pushing open the door, we were greeted by a group of boisterous children of various ages all accompanied by their chaperons. Some of these gifted youths had musical tutors here at the Hall. In fact a couple were my own students. The whole lot of them were dressed smartly for the recitals. The older children were warming up, if their instrument allowed it, while a few of the younger children dashed about the room adding to the chaos.

I clapped my hands sharply and the room dashed into silence, all eyes upon me. “Very shortly, many of you will take to the stage for the first time. We ask that you treat this opportunity with decorum. Gather your instruments if you have one, and be ready to enter the stage when either Maestro Damrosch or I announce you.”

Damrosch cleared his throat. “You have ten minutes before we’d like you to be upstairs. Have respect for your fellow performers and remain quiet until you are called. Are their any questions?”

One little boy tugged on his governess’s sleeve. “When do we get ice cream?”

“Afterward.” Striding into the group, I tried not to pause overly long at where my son sat upon the piano bench beside his schoolmate, Dario. Christine had selected a fine suit for Charles. I could not help but to notice that he was maturing quickly. Dario leaned over toward a figure concealed behind the piano.

“Somebody has butterflies in her stomach!” Dario laughed. I noted my son stiffly glanced away from his friend’s victim. “It’s because you know I’m better than you.”

I coughed into my glove to capture the boy’s attention. Both Dario and Charles looked up. “Young Master Dario, I believe it is.” I waited for the blush to bloom on his cheeks. I had been correct in the name. “Should you not be tuning your viola?”

There was no verbal reply, only a swallow as he slid off the bench in a hasty retreat. Charles briefly met my eyes before he cast them down upon his hands.

Laying a hand upon his shoulder, I smiled. “You have worked very hard for this. I am most anxious to hear you play today. My finest student.”

He nodded, but the whites of his eyes shown as he hid a glance behind the piano. The moment I lifted my hand, he slid from the bench and vanished into the crowd without a word.

Curious. What would have caused him to retreat so? Peering around the edge, I spied a girl who bore remarkable resemblance to Dario. Ah, yes, his twin sister, Simonetta. Tugging on her pinafore, she stared at the edge of the piano with haunted eyes.

Crouching down so as not to intimidate the nervous child, I whispered, “Is this some new approach to playing the piano through some feat of concentration? If so, I should like to learn.”

Taking a step back, she snapped her eyes to me. Stuttering to find the proper address, she finally blurted out, “Maestro, I was just … my … oh … ”

“This is your first recital, Simonetta?” I inquired as I adjusted my dress glove.

At her name her eyes fell to the floor. “How did you know my name?”

“My son and your brother have become close friends. The deduction was simple enough.” Lifting my hand, I stole her attention and drew her eyes to look up at me. I noted she was trembling where she stood. “What instrument do you play?”

She cast her eyes at the piano once more and gave a slight nod.

“How long have you had lessons?”

Turning a foot on the stage she replied timidly, “Quite a few years now. Father hired a private tutor for me, Maestro Baleforio.”

“An excellent tutor, I have come to know many of his students.” Lifting my chin a touch, I continued. “So, why are you worried?”

Swallowing hard, she looked away from me. “I … well … my brother is right. I am not as talented as he is.”

“Truly? Were that so, Baleforio would not have continued your instruction.” When her shocked eyes turned back to me I nodded. “It is the truth. I have known of no less than a dozen pupils he refused to instruct. He does not linger with mediocrity.”

Wringing her fingers, she shook her head. “What if I make a mistake?”

I laughed softly. “Let me tell you a little secret. Few in the audience will know every note you should be playing. So long as you play with confidence, they will likely have no idea a mistake even occurred.”

“Dario will know. He will never let me forget it happened.” Tugging on the lace of her pinafore, she whispered, “I wish he would make a mistake.”

“Now, that is not how a proper musician thinks.” Seating myself upon the piano bench, I held up my index finger. “That is how a spoiled diva might behave.”

Simonetta looked down at her feet.

“Your brother likely worked hard on his piece. This festival is intended to showcase the emerging talent, not to draw attention to the short comings of fellow musicians.”

“I didn’t mean that.” She murmured. “Besides, Dario won’t mess up. He never does.”

Taking my pocket watch out, I checked the time. As I returned it to my vest pocket I replied. “You will not make a mistake either. Just play from your heart and your tutor will be proud.”

Climbing to my feet, I offered her a little bow. “If you will excuse me. I have already made Damrosch wait for me once today. Twice would be unforgivable.”

“Maestro … ” She took a step towards me. “Are you by any chance the father of Charles?”

“Why yes.” Well now, she had noticed him after all. “Tell me how you came to such a conclusion.”

Grasping her hands behind her back, she blushed. “He sounds so much like you.” Giving a curtsy, she turned and followed the rest of the performers up the aisle, tailed closely by her governess whom I noted never altered her expression from a frosty scowl. It appeared some sculptor had chiseled her features in such a way. I now had a goal this afternoon, to see if I could somehow crack a smile into that stone gargoyle once the children were in my ballroom for the post festival social.

Striding leisurely through the corridors, I came upon Damrosch as the crowd was settling in. Peering through the shaft of light, we watched from the shadows. It may have been a youth festival, but both of us had agreed to treat it with the same calibre we did every concert at the hall. At the appropriate time, Damrosch pushed the door open and we walked onto the stage to the applause.

Holding up his hands, he waited for silence to descend. “Ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to Carnegie Hall on this extraordinary afternoon. On behalf of myself and Maestro Erik we would like to present for you a concert unlike any presented upon this stage before.”

“Indeed.” I took a step forward and the limelight followed me. “Music is the great art of expression. A skill that does not simply manifest itself in an instant. Even the grand masters once stood upon a stage for the first time, often when they were naught but children. And so, without further ado, we present the youth of our great city in the first Youth Music Festival held at the auspicious Carnegie Hall.”

Damrosch waved a hand to the door where Charles stood with his fingers twisting a cufflink. “We open this afternoon with Charles Daae on the piano.”

“His selection is a composition from Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. The playful piano sonata number 9 in the key of D.” I held out a hand to beckon my son forward.

Sheltered by the door, Charles’s eyes wavered in the shaft of light. They searched over the crowd before coming to rest on me. He hesitated, apprehension shining in his brown eyes. Taking a step back, I offered a small bow and was rewarded with my son sliding through the doorway onto the stage. The moment the light hit him, his shoulders fell back into place and he appeared to own the stage.

My boy. My son.

Damrosch and I dissolved back into the shadows as the limelight washed over Charles seating himself at the Steinway’s bench. A slight pause as his fingers rested upon the keys. He closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath. Then the music poured forth from the instrument as he bent it to his will. In a merry chase, Charles let his fingers dance upon the keys as he became a conduit of pure emotion. No written music lay within his sight on the piano’s stand. He was playing from his heart as I had tutored him … well, as I had _once_ tutored him. Lately he had been less inclined to linger in the music room beside me. I relished this moment to hear him express his gift, even if it was from a distance. A warm smile graced his perfect face as he shifted on the bench to the movements of the piece.

My son was a true artist. And I could not have been prouder to present him to the world!

Finishing with the final bold chord, Charles rose from the bench to an explosion of applause before turning to bow.

The festival had begun. It was a parade of varying talents. The next few hours held a handful of musical gems amidst the general moderately talented lot. Only a few had been unprepared for the stage, one of which burst into tears and dashed to the wing. The poor child had seemed a little young for such a challenge. I was of course eager to hear Simonetta and was pleasantly surprised. Her fingers upon the keys showed great potential. Indeed, Baleforio’s influence was evident. Given time, there was a chance she could acquire enough talent to be a concert pianist. Her brother Dario, while certainly skilled on the viola, was only of moderate talent.

As the crowd filtered out, Damrosch whispered into my ear. “That wasn’t as painful as Wexworth thought it would be.”

I chuckled before leaning over. “That is because Wexworth’s son doesn’t practice and he has a rather skewed view of youth recitals. Will I see you at the social?”

“I would love to, Erik. However, there is another invitation I must attend.”

I eyed him suspiciously. “Do not tell me that you will be dining with the parents while I have been conned into taking care of their children.”

Damrosch attempted to turn but I reached out and grasped his arm. “Honestly, you will probably have a better time than I will.”

“Erik dear.” Christine’s hand reached around the back of my neck, the pressure causing me to turn into her embrace as I released Damrosch. “We should be getting back to the manor. Do you really want the children to start arriving before we are home?”

What a terrifying prospect. “I hope I remembered to disarm all the traps,” I whispered with a grin.

“What traps?” She grasped my arms and made me look at her.

Twisting, I snatched her hand and gave it a quick kiss. “Of course I am only joking, my darling. You are right, we should be making certain all is ready. I need to fetch my cloak from the office. Wait for me here.”

* * * * *

“Fourteen, fifteen … ”

“Erik dear, you’re counting the children again.” Christine whispered. “They are all still in the ballroom.”

Indeed, they all were. A mass of petite human beings ambling about the marble columns that glimmered with inset gems. In the keystone of the arch that housed my third piano, an immense diamond winked in the shafts of the afternoon sunlight. No mere cut of glass, this precious stone had once been mounted in the throne of the Shah of Persia. I should know where it had come from, after all it was my own dagger that liberated it from its initial setting. So captivatingly beautiful, that spoiled child did not deserve it.

The staff had prepared the room well with an ample supply of iced cream. It was an indulgence even I partook of with great interest, finding more than just a few ample servings in my hand over the course of the event. The melting treat kept the children contained as they returned to the tables to be served more. Their dinners would be truly spoiled. I would not confess it aloud, but I found a slight amusement in the natural effect a gathering of children caused. Despite the efforts of the chaperons, any attempt to maintain proper decorum repeatedly dissolved into a level of chaos. It reminded me of the anniversary party, when the champagne reduced us all to such juvenile behavior. It must be human nature.

Christine kissed my lips, forcing the semi-conscious counting to cease. “Everything is fine. The children are all enjoying themselves. Let the chaperons keep them contained for a little longer. Their parents should be picking them up shortly.”

Placing a hand across her shoulder, I nodded to the group bustling in the room. “Time has passed rather quickly, and I have yet to achieve a certain goal.”

She cocked her head curiously as I set aside the dish I had just emptied. “What are you up to?”

Whispering into her ear, I reached into my pocket searching the hidden recesses. “While the children have been having a good time, it appears that some of our guests are entirely too rigid to have enjoyed themselves. Time to remedy that.”

As I slid from her reach, I saw her eyebrows raise a bit as she stepped back. “Don’t tell me … ”

“Enjoy the show.” I quietly called over my shoulder as I glided toward the center of the room. A series of small glass orbs appeared in my hands as I tossed them about. One by one, the eyes of the children were drawn to me as I varied the speed. Once I had all their attention, I let the objects disappear.

They applauded briefly as I let one orb wander idly along my arm, drawing it back and forth across my hands. I wasn’t really watching the progress, just seeming to let the ball carry its own course … right off the end of my fingers.

The children gasped! Only to hold their breath as the orb hovered in the air.

“It’s magic!” Dario exhaled in awe.

Charles chuckled and leaned over to Dario. “Father can practically do that in his sleep. In fact I saw him do it once when he fell sleep while pondering something.”

Tugging on his sleeve, Dario insisted. “But it’s floating!”

“Yes, it is floating.” I replied, flicking at the little ball and sending it higher into the air. “There is no water here for it float upon. There is only air in this room.” At a gesture, the ball’s path carried it high into the air accompanied by the wall sconces and candles extinguishing.

The children clung to each other in the dimmer room. From the corner of my eye, I noted my target, the gargoyle governess, still as ever. I was only getting started.

“Yet, there is nothing in this world that is beyond manipulation.” Snapping my fingers, another orb appeared there to an explosion of light as the wall sconces and candles once more came back to life. “That’s better.”

Framed in the light, I saw the governess trying to hide her curious glances at the trick. As stony as she remained, there was a moment where the scowl cracked ever so slightly.

The children gathered about me, looked in awe as I casually flicked out one of the fire rings, minus the ignition fluid of course. Flipping the orb through the center of the ring, I caused the simple glass object to change each time it passed. First in color, then it became a flower bud, next it was Damrosch’s watch. I hoped he didn’t try and check the time during his own gathering. Secretly switching the objects from my pocket, at last the orb simply vanished, leaving my hand empty. In mock surprise, I stared through the ring which now framed the governess across the room.

“Master Dario. It appears that your governess has acquired something that belongs to me.” I gestured for the boy, who climbed to his feet and crossed the room with curiosity.

The governess rigidly stood her ground against the wall. “Master Dario, this is most inappropriate.”

His eyes flashed wide as he pointed to behind her back. Not a word did he utter, he just stared.

“Pointing is rude. Staring is even more … ” But her voice halted as her hand reached into the loop of her large bow and from it came my clear glass orb with the flower bud directly in the center. The scowl melted into an expression of awed shock, as at first she studied the impossible object then slowly turned her wide eyes to me, staring. Like brittle clay, her face cracked as her expression changed. “That is not possible.”

Holding out my hand I replied, “I assure you that is real.”

“But how did that get inside there?” She studied the solid glass once more. Her head snapped up. “How did it get over here? You never stepped toward me!”

I laughed. “Give it to the boy, have him bring it here.”

Dario placed the orb in my hand. With a series of wrist flicks the flower emerged from the orb. One more turn and the bud bloomed in my hand. I let them stare for a moment before a snap of a fingers caused the flower to vanish in a ball of flames, leaving my hand empty. However, in a quick wave of my hand, a shower of coins cascaded carelessly onto the floor. The children darted forth to gather up my spare change. The last coin I flicked to the governess with a slight nod of my head as she caught it and examined it for authenticity.

The governess had now replaced her scowl with an expression of quite shocked contemplation. I noted she brushed the back of her hand against her forehead, presumably to check her temperature. Satisfied with achieving my goal, I now discovered a hungry throng of children eager to see more of the unbelievable.

“That is enough for today.” I tried to make a pathway through them without much effect. “There is actually a law on how many times in one day one can break the laws that govern the universe.”

Christine was unsuccessfully trying to hide her laughter in her hands. Giving up, she began to clap quietly. “Well done, Erik. Now every time they see you they will be begging for more.”

I shrugged as I pushed through the shorter crowd. A voice called out for the Wexworth children, their carriage awaited outside for them. As they scurried through to their chaperon, I passed by Charles and Dario.

“You won’t have a thing to worry about.” Dario gasped. “I mean just look at your father and the opulence of this place. Clearly he has a fortune. You have it made, Charles!”

“I know.” Charles reached up and plucked a cherry from the plate on the table. “What’s the point of me needing to find some career to support a household? Once I get my inheritance from Father I should be set for life.”

No. My breath stuck in my chest. Oh no, Charles, you can’t believe such a thing! You cannot become like the man you once believed to be your father … that is the danger of aristocracy—the feeling of entitlement. So much potential would be wasted.

No words came quickly enough to me before the rapid departure of the children stole my attention. In a whirlwind of departures, we came to find but one family left, the twins and their governess in the now eerily quiet ballroom.

Seating myself at the piano, I found Christine leaning on it with an expectant smile. My angel of music wanted to sing. My fingers danced across the keys launching her into her solo for an upcoming concert. It was good practice for her and I shivered in the pure music.

“Madame Daae, that was very lovely.” Simonetta hovered beside the piano.

“Thank you.” She smiled and stroked the piano. “I always love it when Erik plays my favorite pieces for me. Especially the ones he has written. As though they were meant to entertain the courts.”

“That must be a rather serious affair.” Simonetta’s fingers once more lingered on the lace of her pinafore. “To entertain the court.”

I stifled a laugh. “Tell that to Mozart. It was said he had quite the flare for causing a disturbance in the courts. Playing a piece while held upside down was among them. However, I must say as challenging as that is, playing a piece transposed backwards is about the most interesting one can do.”

“Backwards?” Dario placed his hand on the edge of the piano’s keyboard. “You mean playing the chords reversed?”

“Of course. To start at the end of a composition and complete it at the beginning.”

Dario snickered. “That’s silly. Why would anyone want to do that.”

With a smile I hit the final chord of Mozart’s piano sonata number 9 and rapidly proceeded to produce the movement chord for chord backwards. “Because it can sound rather interesting, and also shows no small amount of skill.”

Christine glided over and placed her hand on Charles’s shoulder. He was grinning a bit. “I remember that rehearsal when Damrosch shouted out that if the Symphony Society didn’t get the sequence correct he would make them play it backward.”

Swaying with the strange rendition, I cocked an eyebrow. “He had not noticed I had been lingering by the piano. It seemed like such an amusing challenge. I simply could not resist.”

The children laughed as I played the final chord, which was actually the first chord.

“Monsieur Erik.” I swung around the piano bench to find one of the footmen in the doorway. “The Chantelli’s have been delayed. They sent word that they shall be picking up their children here as soon as they can. They apologize for the delay.”

I nodded as Christine seated herself beside me on the bench. She bid the children to gather around us. “It is no matter for a slight delay. I am certain we may find enough to keep ourselves entertained.”

My mind mulled over the name. Chantelli. Chantelli. “Chantelli … ” I had mused aloud without intending to do so. “Any relation to Signora la Serenissima?”

Simonetta grinned. “Yes, that’s our Aunty Clareesa.”

I sat back rather more suddenly than I had wished, nearly hitting the keyboard with my elbow. “That self-centered, tone deaf diva is your aunt?”

A sharp pain erupted at my ribs. Christine threw me a dark scowl as I rubbed the ribs she had elbowed.

“What?” I mouthed.

Twirling around, Simonetta continued. “Aunty Clareesa was a singer on the stage. Men used to compete for her.”

Dario began to laugh. “They were after her money, Simonetta, not her talent. Father told me her singing voice was terrible and her attitude an embarrassment to the whole family.”

“I should say so. She had quite an ill-reputation.” As I permitted my tongue to get the better of me, I glanced at Christine who’s continued glare remained locked on my eyes.

Narrowing his gaze, Dario studied me for a long moment. “She attempted to perform at Carnegie Hall and some man who became the director of the arts forced her out. Ruined her career. They say she never sang again after he gave her a blistering critique.”

Never sang again? My actions caused her to finally realize she couldn’t sing! I couldn’t help the fidgeting. I wanted to leap up with elation. No wonder I had not been troubled with word of her further attempts. There were none!

Simonetta crept forward. “Was that man you?”

“Yes!” I blurted out, unable to hold back any longer. Of course, this was followed by a pained howl as Christine kicked my shin, hard!

“Erik! Mind your manners.” She stood up, placing her hands on her hips.

“You were there.” I rubbed the already rising bruise. “I only told her the truth about her voice. If anything, I assisted her in not wasting any more time developing a career around a talent she did not actually possess.”

Across the room, Charles glanced nervously at Simonetta.

Dario and Simonetta giggled into their hands. “It’s alright. The only one who misses Aunty Clareesa’s singing is Aunty Clareesa.” Simonetta confessed.

I held out my hand in point. “Your aunt thankfully stopped singing before her wretched voice made all the ears in Manhattan bleed.”

That earned me an icy glare from my wife, cold enough that I swallowed my next remark even as the children continued to chat.

Hours later, after a rather quiet meal in the dining room, I followed Christine upstairs. “That was a wonderful success of a day. Damrosch and I would be fools not to make this an annual event.” I was about to cross the threshold into our bedchamber, when Christine placed the flat of her palm against my chest.

“You would be a greater fool in thinking you will be sleeping in here tonight.” The fire burning in her eyes warned me I had risen her ire.

“My love.” I began holding my hands out. “What is the cause of this?”

Rising to her full height, she glared into me. “If you think hard enough, you should know what you have done, Erik.”

“La Serenissima?” Oh yes, that was it. By the darkening of her expression that was undoubtedly it. “That was years ago, and even the family has enough taste to know that the woman cannot sing.”

Tapping her foot on the ground, she narrowed her eyes. “You insulted a relative of the girl Charles has his heart set upon marrying. Do you wish to spoil his chances by some rude remark?”

“Well … I … ” Hrm, when she put it that way. Dropping my shoulders, I tried once more to enter my room. “I will find some way to make amends.”

“Good. You may think about what you have done on the couch tonight. Good night, Erik.” The door slammed shut, leaving me in the study.

Wriggling the knob, I noted she had locked the door. “Christine, my love. You know a lock will not keep me out.”

“Erik.” Her voice came back mockingly. “You know that little electrical device you and Charles built? Do you wish to find out what it feels like to grab a metal knob attached to it?”

Of its own will, my hand increased the distance from the potential threat. My devious nature had indeed inspired a few well deserved retaliations.

“Did I hear a door slam?” Nadir walked into the study as I left the door, glancing over my shoulder with a soft chuckle.

“You did.”

Observing me briefly as I strolled over to the sofa and dropped down upon it with a sigh, he stole a glance at the bedchamber door. “What did you do this time?”

Studying my fingernails idly, I mused, “You remember La Serenissima?” When he nodded, I continued. “The last time she sang was my critique at the Music Hall.”

He half-smiled. “What does this have to do with you spending the night banned from your bedchamber?”

I rolled my gaze up to meet his eyes. “I apparently caused the end of her career.”

“A blessing, if that is true.” Nadir laughed. “I only suffered her voice once.”

Laying my arm across my eyes, I chuckled. “All of Manhattan may agree. But I am forbidden from celebrating that great success within the vision of my sweet Christine.”

“Forbidden? I thought she wasn’t fond of the diva either.”

I nodded. “It does not matter. I neglected my manners in public and I now have a rather large bruise on my shin for my pains.” But I was smiling anyway. La Serenissima had never sung again after the sting of my words.

Complete victories were rare in this world. One had to relish them when they came.


	12. Chapter Twelve

_ **Chapter 12** _

_ **** _

The flicker of the candle flame outlined his slumbering form. Over the past week I had been contemplating my plan, making little adjustments until I was certain all this was necessary. If my calculations were wrong, it may only serve to drive us further apart. It wasn’t too late, if I turned around and left his room he would never know. Closing my eyes, I remembered his words, the lazy conviction that his future was already secure. A tremble ran down my arm, shaking loose a drop of wax to fall down the edge of the candle. If he did not learn from me, the world would teach him with significantly more cruelty.

“Charles.” I called out with a note of command. Under the covers, he jerked before the light hit his eyes. Darting his head under the protective blanket, he moaned softly. I reached down and pulled back the covers, leaving him to rub his blurry eyes. “Wake up and get dressed. You are to meet me in the stables in ten minutes.”

Without another word I left him, hoping that I would not be required to roust him again.

I had just finished securing the riding pack to Faust when I heard Charles dragging his feet through the straw. “Father? The sun isn’t even up. What is going on?”

I waved my hand to my stable-master who brought forth a docile roan Morgan gelding. “Thank you, Jacques. We will not be returning until later this evening. Be ready, the horses will likely need a good washing.”

Swinging up onto Faust, I felt the Arabian stallion’s breathing beneath the blanket across his back. He wore no saddle and only a hackamore bridle. All I required. Already his hooves were dancing eagerly, in the shadows of the stable his black coat nearly concealed him.

Charles lingered, weary eyes wandering until they once more found me. I gestured toward the waiting Morgan. “Get on him, we have a long journey today. “

Wordlessly, Charles climbed up into the saddle. I had taught him to ride without one, but he preferred the balance the stirrups provided. Knowing that, I had requested Jacques to saddle the horse in preparation.

With a slight pressure of my knee, I turned Faust and departed the stable without ceremony. Behind me, I heard the clatter of the gelding’s hooves on the cobblestones as Charles followed me into the night air.

Well over an hour passed in unbroken silence as we crossed the bridge, leaving the streets behind us. The hooves thumped along on a packed dirt road. The stars winked out of the sky as it lightened, making way for the dawn. Already the heat was building, common for late July.

“Father.” Charles at last broke the silence, shifting forward to encourage his horse to come up beside mine. “Why are we out here in the middle of no-where?”

Casting him a sidelong glance, I let the hint of a smile show. “I know your birthday isn’t until September, but I hope you are enjoying your birthday gift.”

Slowly Charles looked down at the reins in his hands, following them to the horse’s ears. “He’s mine?”

I nodded. “I have found Drifter to be a reliable fellow of mild nature. Though he is not a flashy thoroughbred, he will make a fine mount for you. I spent a considerable amount of time assessing all my horses to select him for you.”

“Drifter?” He reached forward and tangled his fingers in the mane.

Faust nimbly jumped over a fallen log rather than take the dozen or so steps it would require to go around it.

“He came to me some years ago.” I resettled myself upon Faust’s back. “He would wander onto one of the work sites, dragging a rope. No one knew where he came from. But as he continued to return, I coaxed him to me. To this day I can only assume he had come from a farm. He had been handled before, and was even broken. I was not about to let a wonderful animal wander off into uncertainty. So I brought him to the stable and fed him well.”

Drifter’s sure steps climbed the road as it grew ever steeper. Upon his back, Charles took in the rural terrain. “What are we doing out here?”

I waited until I had crested the hill, the sun’s first rays stretching into the sky. “I am going to show you what the foundation of an empire looks like.”

Charles eyes grew wide as he climbed the steep grade. The moment he peered down into the valley, his expression flared to incredulous. “It’s a stone quarry.”

“What did you expect?” Without another word I urged Faust down the winding road. Having no choice, Charles followed me into the growing dust.

Inside the rough cut walls, dust sparkled like gold in the morning light. The voices of my quarrymen commencing their day echoed in the winding maze of corridors. This was my oldest source for stone, the first I had purchased after setting foot in America. Nearly fifteen years this site had released quality building stone. It also served as a proving ground. Many of my now skilled workers entered this quarry under an apprenticeship where they learned the basics. Only the truly gifted made it out again to commence higher work on my work sites. This was how trades were traditionally obtained. It was precisely how I had been taught.

Personally, I did not enter the quarry often, employing messengers to deliver the orders for the stone while I remained on the sites finishing the stone dressing. Despite the promise of a house in the quarry’s hamlet, the work was difficult and harsh, many of the eager apprentices would abandon the prospect before their first summer, meaning that each year only a handful remained under the capable hands of my quarry-master, Signor Biancardi.

Voices drew me into a side corridor. Charles reined in Drifter, keeping behind me as his eyes roved over everything. We came upon a group of men covered in dust, gathered about a moderately sized block of rough stone.

I slid off Faust, leaving his rein over his neck to allow him to wander. Casually approaching the group, I noted very few had been present the year before. One man took a hefty swing with a mallet. A spark flew into the air as it struck the chisel.

“No!” He dropped the mallet with a cry of frustration. “Why did I ever wager? I am telling you all, it cannot be done!”

Cocking my head, I appraised the singular stone from a distance before inquiring, “What precisely are you trying to do?”

Every eye flashed to me before the group burst into laughter. A first year worker waved me off. “Never been to a quarry before, Sir. You would not want to get dust on that fancy suit of yours. This here is a dangerous place.”

Ignoring him, I took a few steps closer to the block. I felt Charles approaching behind me, even as the men snickered and pointed in my general direction. I noted that a few of those men actually were well aware of who I was.

“I ask again, what wager do you speak of.”

The man who had tried, yanked the chisel from the stone. “It’s an ongoing bet. Cleave the stone in half with one strike. But it is too thick. It cannot be done.”

Laying my hand upon the rough surface, I walked all around the challenge. Sizing up the shape, contours, the composition. “Of course it can be done.”

“Not by hand.” He replied. “I have gamboled away more than a days wage on attempting the feat.”

One of the older hands stepped forward and looked me square in the eyes. “Now, hold up boys. Let’s have a bit of sport with this old twig of a man. If he thinks it can be done, let him show us how!”

The group exploded in cheers and laughter. “Yeah, let’s see it.”

Picking up the mallet, I held my hand out for the chisel. When it was placed there roughly, I approached the face of the stone. While gently tapping the stone with the edge of the chisel, I listened to the sound, feeling the vibrations traveling. “What are the rules, precisely?”

Quelling the noise, the man signaled for another to collect the bets. “Once the chisel is set, you can’t move it. You get one swing with the mallet. It can’t break loose a small piece. The stone has to break fully into two fairly even pieces. But if our boy, Markus couldn’t do it, I fail to see how a waif like you could.”

Ignoring the goading remarks, I stole a glance at Charles. His eyes watching me with apprehension, even a bit of worry.

Minutes ticked by while I finished exploring the entire face of the stone accompanied by the grumbles of the men.

“Get on with it, old man!”

Satisfied, I held the chisel and set it into the stone. Bracing my foot, I took a deep breath and hefted the weight of the foreign mallet in my left hand, before bringing my right up to balance it. The grip felt awkward, grooves worn into the handle from the grip of a right handed man.

“There is no way. There isn’t enough muscle on him.”

I smiled. In a swift arc, I brought the mallet up over my head and downward onto the chisel. A spark leapt into the air as the hidden fracture in the stone split with a tremendous crack. When the dust cleared, rays of sunlight shown between the two halves. The quarry men held their breath, staring in disbelief.

“Hrm, not precisely even.” I leaned forward inspecting the angle. “The cleavage is off by a degree. However, that can easily be remedied in dressing.”

The man who had challenged me released a conspiratorial grin. “Within a degree is still within the rules of the bet, master mason Erik, and you damn well know it!”

The newer men fell back a few steps, while those in my employ for longer then a year erupted into laughter at their little game.

“Signor Biancardi, you selected an excellent stone this year for the challenge. I must confess that it took me sometime to locate the weakness.” Tentatively, Charles stepped towards the stone, his eyes studying it along with the other workers.

Biancardi laughed, taking his chisel and mallet back. “My favorite day of the year! When you come by and show these hot-headed novices what real mastery looks like.”

Abashedly, one of the men wrung his hat. “Master mason Erik? As in the architect?”

“As in your boss.” Biancardi replied.

“Sir, I expected him to be … well … stronger.”

Straightening up, Biancardi was about to reprimand the worker when I held up a hand. “Did you try and cleave the stone?”

“Why yes, well sir, we all did.”

Pointing at the stone, I observed. “Yet with all the strength here, the challenge was not met before my arrival. Strength will only get a man so far if he does not know which direction to strike in.”

Meekly the man retreated as Biancardi called out to the crew, “Enough fun for the day. Get to work.”

Idly, I observed Charles as his hands ran over the stone.

“I received the request for the next order of stone.” Biancardi came to my side. “I’ll be pushing the men to loose it at the rate of your request.”

“Are you finding their work adequate?”

He shrugged. “Most of them. There are a couple lads who are not fit for this type of work.”

“Cut them loose.” I replied casually. “There is no reason to waste time with those unwilling to meet the standard. I will gladly hire you more hands, more suited for this work. We have deadlines to keep, Biancardi. If you fall behind I fall behind.”

He nodded slowly. “It is difficult to find workers that meet your standards, Sir.” His curious gaze shifted to my son. “Taking on a new apprentice?”

“Perhaps.” I approached Faust and began to rummage through the pack for my tools. “It has yet to be seen.”

The heat caused a rivulet of sweat to drip down the quarry-master’s forehead. He leaned in closer to whisper, “I am relieved that you are here. I would have sent word earlier but I knew you always visit your quarry this time of year. We were supposed to have received new ropes and pulleys for the cranes. I was told they had arrived in the shipping yard a week ago and loaded on a cart. They never arrived.”

“Probably some mistake.” I produced the mallet and a set of rough chisels. Striding over towards my son, I added. “I shall look into it, Biancardi. Perhaps they are just as in desperate need of good workers as you are.”

“Will you be staying for the day?” His eyes followed me.

“I intend to, yes.” Placing a hand on Charles’s shoulder, I laid the tools on the stone before him. “Alright, let us see how you work stone.”

He blinked at me, pointing frantically at the stone. “Father, I can’t do that!”

“Nor could I at your age.” Reaching down, I selected the proper chisel. “However, that is no reason for your hands to sit idle. Accomplishments are built over hard work and dedication.”

Placing the chisel in his hand, I spent the next hour painstakingly introducing Charles to the tools of this critical trade, before appointing him a deceptively simple task. He was to rough cut a part of the split block to exact dimensions.

At first he shrugged, taking the chisel and mallet from me with an air of insult at what, he called, an infantile task. Standing back I let him believe it while the sun blazed its familiar stifling heat in the cloudless sky. It was not long before young Charles fought to hold back frustrated curses as the stone fractured in ways other than his desire. When he met with the true difficulty of the challenge, his initial remark meant he blatantly refused all suggestions from me. Stone after stone, I rejected as the hours passed and my son made attempt after attempt. He did not realize it, but with each new approach he was improving. By his fourth stone, he was already straighter on the rough cut than many of the boys I had seen after a week of instruction.

“Father?” Charles looked up from his sixth attempt at the task to find me idly chiseling a basic frieze. “I thought you were watching me.”

“I am.” I nipped off a small piece of the stone to outline a tucked head on a rearing horse.

With a start, Charles counted the small blocks from his previous attempts. “That’s one of mine. When did you start that?”

Setting the chisel aside, I stood up. “While you were correcting the angle on the third block. Let us see how your current one is coming along.”

Examining the side closely, I took out the square. An edge trailed out from behind it, the cut slightly obtuse. Before I could say anything Charles dropped his shoulders and turned away. “I’ll start again.”

“Why?” I beckoned him back to my side. “You only need to remove a little more off the face to make it acceptable.”

He swallowed as he looked at the thin line that the square revealed. “I’ll break it if I try.”

“Earlier you refused to listen. Will you now?” Handing him a finer chisel, I shook my head. “Of course if you continue to use the large one, you will fail. Too much force. Now, you need finesse.”

Hesitantly he placed the edge of the chisel to the stone. His hand holding the mallet trembled with a combination of fatigue and apprehension. No less than three times did he drew it back, only to pause letting the head fall to the ground.

“Hours of work can be destroyed by one stroke in the wrong direction.” I watched as he released the breath he was holding. “It is equally as wasteful to cast aside a project that can be brought to full bearing by a little more effort. The balance comes in knowing where the fine line is.”

Charles brought the chisel up to the stone once more, his hand struggling to settle on a place.

Gently I reached forward and guided the chisel into the proper bite. My eyes watched Charles’s embarrassment spread across his weary features. “My son, that line is not something anyone learns in a single day.”

His eyes darted to mine before he brought the mallet up to strike the chisel. He didn’t dare to breathe under my gaze. Sweat soaked his hair to his scalp. I let him take a few more strokes before placing the square. “There we are.”

At last he took a breath. It had taken him six attempts, the sun was beginning to hang low in the sky, but the stone was within my margin for a rough cut. The other previous attempts would be utilized for other cuts when Biancardi got to them. So the efforts had not been wasted.

Charles did not celebrate his success, instead he leaned back on his heels, rubbing his bleeding hands. Small shards of stone often found soft flesh. He did not bear many cuts but enough to show for his efforts. The boy was justifiably weary.

Holding out my hand to him, I levered Charles to his feet. “That is enough for one day.”

When we reached the horses, while I packed my tools, I watched him leaning against his horse, his eyes roving over the stone halls shimmering in the heat of dusk. “This quarry is like hell. I can see why you don’t come here often.”

Tying the bag shut, I mounted Faust with a laugh. “When I was an apprentice, I spent months on end in the quarry from dawn until dusk, perfecting every task Giovanni bade me do.”

Charles grumbled as he pulled himself up onto Drifter. “Was he as much of a perfectionist as you?”

“That is what makes a master mason, Charles.” Riding beside him, we began the ascent out of the quarry. We had a long ride home. “I will have you know that, for your first day in the quarry, you did very well. I am pleased with your attention to detail.”

He bowed his head. “It is harder than it looks. This is how you made your living?”

“It is.” I couldn’t help a small smile. There was some impact upon him now. “Fortunes do not manufacture themselves, my son. My skilled trade supplied the means, as one day yours will for you.”

After a brief pause, he looked up at the sky. “Do I have to be a stone mason?”

“Only if you wish. There are many trades out there … but just as a wrong strike on a stone can destroy a days worth of work, a moment can strip a man of everything he owns. It is critical to have the skills to earn it back.”

Slowly his eyes turned to study me in the gathering dark. “How do you know? I mean, with the stone … how did you know where to strike to break it?”

All those years ago in the quarry beside that wise old man, his words echoed within me. The trade secret gifted from master to apprentice. “There is a reason not just anyone can accomplish that task. There is reason behind Biancardi selecting a stone each summer for such a demonstration. That reason is not for my ego, but rather to test the skills of the crew. One who has come to know the stone enough, can find the solution to the task. That can only be done by listening to the stone, finding the weakness and utilizing it. I let the stone speak to me.”

Charles rolled his eyes with a short laugh. “Now you sound like a lunatic.”

Faust reared back as I pulled sharply on his rein. My good humor instantly banished. “You are **never** to say that again!” I shouted. “Do you understand me? Never!”

Leaning back, my son shied his horse away from me. His eyes widened in shock at the sudden change. “I … I am sorry.”

“You should be.” I snapped. “You have a lot to learn if that is how you see things.” Turning my back on him, I urged Faust forward on the pathway.

After a long silence, I heard the Morgan’s hooves thumping on the packed road over my left shoulder. “Father … I … ”

“No more.” I growled to cover that I was on the verge of tears. It had been a simple remark, just a word, and yet it cut me deeply to hear my son imply it. Stiffly, I kept my back to him, lest he see. All I had wanted to do was teach him, to be a father, to inspire him to strive for something greater … now, that was all lost.

One strike can ruin an entire days work.

Things grew quiet, too quiet. I looked back to find Charles lying his head on the horse’s strong neck, his hand tangled in the rein. He was sound asleep. Slowing Faust a little, I rode the remainder of the trip alongside, ensuring he did not fall.

When we reached the stable, I gathered Charles in my arms and carried his limp body up the stairs to his room, tucking him into his bed with great care. How had my carefully laid plan failed so horrendously? His words had not meant to trigger that response from me.

With a long sigh, I left him to rest, wandering to my study drowned in my thoughts.

“Erik dear, there you are.” Christine laughed as she brushed the dust from my coat. “There was a message for you earlier from the Phoenix Pavilion. Something about a fire, I told them you were out. I did not realize you would be gone all day. You must have been visiting all your work sites.”

“No.” I replied distantly, unable to meet her gaze.

Narrowing her eyes, she searched me for a moment before she took a step back. “What happened?” When I did not reply, she reached up and took my hand. “My love, something is wrong, please tell me.”

“I … I took Charles to the quarry today.”

Her eyes widened, suddenly overcome with fear. “You did what? Oh my God, he didn’t get hurt did he!”

It was my turn to grasp her hand, to still her flight lest she wake him. “He is fine, exhausted, but fine.”

“The quarry, Erik, he could have been killed! He’s only a boy.”

“Christine, he is nearly a man. It is time he ceases to be coddled and learns a trade. I was close to his age when I was apprenticed.”

“Charles is not as resilient as you.” She protested. “Thank heavens he did not have to grow up like you did. How can you even think he is ready for this?”

My hands balled into fists before I threw them into the air with a cry of frustration. Could I do nothing right? Fleeing to the balcony, I leaned heavily on the railing, grasping my head as I struggled to recollect my scattered thoughts.

Behind me, Christine crept out into the night air. “He is just a boy.” She said softly. “Our only child, Erik. I do not want to see him hurt.”

“He has to grow up someday.” I felt my nails dig into my scalp. “If he is not allowed to, he will not survive.”

The silence stretched before, at last, I felt her hand touch mine, loosening the hold on my now throbbing head.

“I am so lost.” My shoulders fell under the weight of the admission. “Christine, I have no idea what I am doing. I am trying to guide him, to shape him, to mold him into a man … but it is something I have no experience in.”

“You’ll figure it out.” She reached up and stroked the side of my neck. “Erik, I know you’ll find some way. But please, don’t endanger his life like that again. It frightens me that you would take him there.” Taking my other hand from my head, she made me turn to face her. “It frightens me to know you are up on the scaffolding at the work sites.”

“I have to, my love. It is essential.” Holding her close, I sighed. “You do not need to fret over Charles, he is not interested in stone work.”

When she heaved a relieved sigh I withdrew from her, seeking the railing once more.

“I am a failure as a father.” I hung my head. “Every time I try and bridge the gap between us, I strike too hard and knock out the keystone.”

Beside me, she leaned on the railing. “How can you expect to know what to do, Erik? You never had a father to show you how.”

Once more, I found my hand embracing my temple, trying to rub away the throbbing headache. It had been stifling at the quarry, and though I had tried to drink throughout the day, perhaps I had not done so enough. “I just want to go back to when he still looked at me in awe. When I did not have be a demi-god to have him smile at me. Back when just being me was enough.”

“Perhaps you are trying too hard.” Leaning into my side, she wrapped her arms around me. “Besides, my love. It is not your actions that have driven him away.”

Looking down into her eyes I saw her blush a little.

She reached up and brushed my mask. “The other boys at his school have begun to talk … about things. Charles has told me some of things they have said about you.”

I closed my eyes, suddenly everything feeling so heavy. “Youth can be so cruel.” It had been difficult enough for me when I was younger, the merciless taunting of the other boys on the work sites driving me to distraction and sometimes self-defense. Giovanni had lost more than one boy’s service to a knife wound I had been forced to inflict. But for Charles … while other boys could speak of their successful fathers … what would they say of me? How could I have overlooked this? “He never told me.”

She nodded. “Because he was afraid you might go to Harkness Academy and try to remedy the issue.”

Pulling away from her, I paced the length the balcony and back again before she reached out to me once more. “Erik, you cannot go there. There is nothing you can do that won’t result in things getting worse for him. Charles is handling it as well as he can. He knows you love him, just give him some time to sort things out.”

“This is my family.” I stated. “I am supposed to protect it from harm. How can you ask me to stand aside and let our son suffer the slings and arrows of an ignorant society?”

Pulling me closer, she kissed me before replying. “Teach him instead to stand with confidence as you do. Then it will not matter what they say.”

Yet, what Charles said had hurt me. This was not the time to make any decisions. Closing my eyes, I turned from her. “I am tired. I want to go to bed.”

Catching up to me she looked up with concern. “Erik, are you feeling alright? It’s just after sundown. You never go to bed at this hour.”

Without a reply, I shut the bedchamber door behind me. Was it a wonder that things were turbulent between my son and I? Sitting on the edge of my bed, I removed the mask and stared at its familiar contours. The throbbing pain in my head growing steadily worse as I felt the sting of the tears.

It was bad enough for society to judge me … but to cast the same shadow upon my perfect son. All because of this … because of me.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

_ **Chapter 13** _

_ **** _

Gray powder covered everything. What once was ornately painted wooden beams was now charred and blackened. The only hint of color were but flecks clinging to the corners of the flame licked boards. Standing in the wreckage, I cast my gaze up into the collapsed second story to see the bright blue sky where a roof should have been. Tendrils of a different sort of smoke trailed lazily in the sky. Lingering with the scent of the burned wood, was a sweet essence so familiar to me. The teasing aroma awakened a distant longing I found increasingly distracting as I shifted through what had once been an opium den.

“Most honorable Erik.” Shunyuan Ma lingered in what had been the entry to his home and establishment. “Everything is gone.”

Replying in his tongue, I ran my hand over the remnants of a smoking bed. “I must apologize for not having come yesterday. I had been on important business and beyond reach. Tell me, when did this happen?”

The old man’s eyes glistened with unshed tears as he stood amid the ruins of his once prosperous life. “In the morning, no one was here. I was tending to the supplies for we had an arrival of a shipment fresh from China, when I smelled smoke of a different kind. I barely got out of the building. It was such a fierce fire.”

I picked up one of the pipes to find it felt so natural in my hand. A sensation akin to an itch triggered a slight tremble. No! For the past five years, I had been free of this addiction. Shedding that shackle had been agony, a process I had no desire to ever need to repeat. Setting the pipe aside, I let out a slow breath. “If you were alone, there was no chance of some sleeper having dropped a pipe to accidentally ignite the fire.”

Drifting through what little remained of the structure, I heard his steps muffled by the ashes as he followed. “You speak true. I had the only lantern with me. No source of a spark was present.”

“Troubling.” No logical source of a spark. I knew this man well, he was not the reckless type. “Shunyuan Ma, please have Shuan Jin fetch my informants.”

“At your wise command.” He bowed out of the room leaving me in the smoldering remains of the den.

Melted glass shown in the daylight pouring through the open roof. This did not make sense. Certainly fires were not unheard of in opium dens. I was more than aware of the state a man could be brought to when inhaling the breath of the dragon. Even partaking of it modestly, a man was momentarily dead to the world. On many occasions a stray spark from the dropped pipe had resulted in a blaze. That was precisely why it was unwise to smoke unattended. Not that I had always heeded that advice. Recalling my indulgence in the habit, it truly was a miracle I had been fortunate enough not to have burnt my mansion down on more than one occasion.

A gust of wind blew through the blackened timbers. The gleam of an object set into motion caught my eye. Drifting toward it, I discovered what appeared to be a necklace pendant about half the size of my fist dangling on a tarnished chain. Since it was covered in soot it was difficult to make it out. Curious, something about it seemed familiar. I did not recall having seen anything of the like here, for it was not an oriental cut. It felt quite out of place.

Plucking it from the nail it was snagged upon, I felt the weight in the palm of my hand. Silver, and by the mass it must have been pure. Even beneath the soot, it bore the tarnish of great age and neglect. An icy finger of dread scraped over my skin as I exposed the intricate carving. With a haunting familiarity, the cold eye of the small viper winked knowingly up at me. His coils twisted about himself into a symbol of infinity as tiny fangs clasped his tail. The symbol was hardly unknown to me … the uroboros. Various incarnations of it could be seen throughout my travels in Europe and Asia. The serpent was sometimes presented in a perfect circle. And sometimes not a serpent at all but dragon. The critical detail was the creature’s own tail grasped within the teeth.

This pendent had seen a lot of wear, the details on the edges rubbed away. What once had been deep grooves, denoting the rippling scales had melded into one another, almost like the silver beast was preparing to shed his skin. Closing my eyes, I envisioned the pendent as it must have appeared decades ago. A gleaming twist of silver writhing in the flame light of candles, each scale casting a shadow. Suspended from the chain, it would have taken on a life all its own.

Footsteps scuffed behind me. In the same motion of turning my body, deftly I dropped the necklace into a hidden pocket. Concealed from the street by what remained of the walls, I faced four men. Shunyuan Ma had returned with his employee Shuan Jin. Behind him, Cormac Byrne and Antonino Gallo gazed at me in confusion.

“This is a little unusual,” the Italian remarked. “To cross paths intentionally in the daylight.”

I nodded. “Gentlemen, I am sure it has not escaped your capable eyes that this establishment has suffered a grave disaster.”

“Ain’t standin’ much anymore, if that’s what you mean, Sir.” Cormac Byrne tugged off his tweed hat. “Wrong kinda smoke raisen up from this here place.”

Shuan Jin flexed his hands. “This place provided work for many, now we are lost.”

Pulling my hand over a beam of wood that was marginally salvageable I glanced markedly at Shunyuan Ma. “How much do you need to rebuild?”

Stumbling forward, his wide eyes fell to the floor. “Most honorable Erik, you do not partake of my trade anymore. I shall have no way to repay you. Already you hold the title to this land and thus this building, my livelihood.”

Blandly I replied, “Just because I am no longer in need of one service does not mean I do not see your success as a lucrative investment. The smoke of the dragon loosens the tongues of men, their whisperings are of interest to me, as you well know. I should be most inconvenienced to lose my access to that font of knowledge.”

Darting his glance around the wooden ribs, he shook his head. “I do not know what it shall cost. But every word uttered will be yours in repayment. Forgive me, but I assumed that since you no longer partook of cases we once supplied, you had abandoned your interest in my humble business.”

Bringing my hands together before me, I offered him a half bow. “Your whispers are often what allow me to conduct my business as I desire, unhindered.” Casting my eyes over the entire gathered group, I added, “All **your** whisperings, which is why you are here now at this odd hour. Gentlemen, you are among the most efficient at procuring secrets and information from the streets. Have I not rewarded you generously in the past for services rendered?”

Antonino lifted his right hand, flashing a substantial ruby ring, while Cormac laughed, “Yes Sir, and tis always a pleasure carrying out your business.”

“Delighted you should feel that way.” I removed my watch, checking the time. I had not planned on this trip across town and if I was not careful, I would be late for the Symphony Society’s rehearsal. “I was already preparing an assignment for you lot yesterday. However, now there is further work for you.”

Antonino inclined his head curiously, looking around the structure. “Arson?”

All I needed to do was nod.

Shuan Jin growled. “It is the only explanation, and they shall pay dearly for this.”

“I wish to hear of what you should uncover with your efforts. Someone must be speaking of this and I want to know by whom and why it was done.” I held up a hand to keep them with me. “On a further errand, some supplies for my own business have gone amiss.” I produced a note and held it forth, Antonino took it from me without hesitation. “This contains the details of no less than four deliveries over the past three weeks that have not made their destination. I find that level of incompetence beyond reason.”

My three most trusted informants turned to one another, a gleam in their eyes. These men thrived on the darkened corners and dens. Places that a man of my reputation should not even be aware existed. If there was anything afoul, they would bring it to my attention.

When they turned back, I had already exited the room unseen. I could not be late for the rehearsal, and even on Faust it was a long ride north from Chinatown.

* * * * *

That eerie sensation pricked the back of my neck. I could feel the stare upon me even as I played my Stradivarius beneath Damrosch’s capable direction. Of late, I had found the rehearsals here that used to bring me such joy had become torturous tension. I did not have to see him to know he was there. Directly behind me, in the traditional space for the second chair, he lurked as an ever present shadow, the vibrations of his violin strings impossible to ignore.

Damrosch brought his baton down, dashing the symphony into silence. “Alright, I need to hear the flutes from measure thirty-one. Just the flutes, please.”

Resting my violin on my knee, I felt his presence closer as he leaned forward. Reiniger’s voice whispered in my ear. “Say Erik, is that soot on your coat?”

Stiffly I slid my glance down to find a light gray powder marring the solid black wool. Without a word I brushed it off.

Poking my shoulder blade with a finger, he continued. “Tough run with the servants? Don’t tell me you had to clean your own fireplace this morning.”

Fixing him with a disapproving glare, I brought a finger up to shush him.

He missed the hint. “Come now, how else would a man of your breeding come by soot?”

“It is none of your business.” I snarled acidly. “This is a rehearsal, stop being disruptive.”

He was about to reply when Damrosch addressed the group. “Everyone, measure thirty-one. I think we have fixed the problem.”

Bringing my bow to the strings, the sensation unnerved me once more. To the point where I physically turned enough to glance. The German’s eyes flicked up to watch Damrosch, but not before I had seen he had been staring at me. Each time I glanced his way, I noted with annoyance his veiled attempts to cover his interests. It was grating on me. What was with this man? I would not surrender concertmaster to the likes of him. It would not matter what game he played. Feeling a burn in the muscles of my right arm, I tried without success to release the tension that continued to build.

Lowering the baton, Damrosch eyed me for a moment before stepping down from his podium. “Good work everyone, let’s take a short break.” As he passed he gestured for me to follow him, keeping his voice low. “Erik, can I have a word with you?”

When I turned, Reiniger was addressing Connolly and Seambrook, the trio already chuckling in their conversation. Stiffly I followed Damrosch out the stage door, which he promptly shut behind us.

For a long moment he stared up at me. “Erik, is Reiniger’s violin out of tune?”

“No.” I found in that one word more tension in my jaw than I knew I had been holding.

He held up a hand. “Was he playing wrong notes? Wrong timing?”

“No and no.” I folded my arms across my chest, fighting the urge to look away from the direct stare.

“Then please educate me on why you feel so inclined to continuously scowl over your shoulder at him.” He waited, raising his eyebrows when I did answer him. “Erik, this frustrates me to no end. You have been consistently late, distracted when you are here, and I can’t help but to believe you’re still convinced that Reiniger is up to something. Staring over your shoulder when you should be watching me. I cannot deny you are talented, and I would be remiss in even considering breaking our partnership in running this business. But these paranoid antics have to stop.”

I felt my teeth grating together. Choosing my words carefully, I spoke slow and level. “I am not paranoid, Damrosch. If you were watching carefully, you would see there is something odd about that man.”

Tossing his hand in the air, he quipped. “What is odd is you feeling threatened by him. Now, it’s been nearly a month since he played your piece with enough mastery to earn the second chair. You need to come to terms with that.”

“Damros—”

“No, Erik. No more crazy convictions. I need you to just play your part like you did before, not choking up on your bow because you’re spying over your shoulder.”

Why was I the only one who seemed to notice the hidden glances? How could my friend not sense that there was something strange about this man?

Placing a hand on the front of my shoulder he drew my attention back to him. “Can you do that?”

I heaved a sigh. “I will try.”

He lowered his head before offering me a stern glare. “You need to start taking this more seriously. For God sake, we can’t hold everything up waiting on you all the time. I understand that you are a very busy man, but this hall is my life, Erik. I don’t have another business to fall back on as you do.”

I loathed being lectured, especially by a man roughly half my age. However, his words held great truth. My inadvertent behavior had an effect on the music. Running a hand through my hair, I bowed my head. “I beg your pardon, Damrosch.”

He looked up, taking a step back in disbelief. “Say that again … I do not think I heard you correctly.”

“I said that I beg your pardon, and I meant it.” I glanced up at him before I looked away. “I have been terribly inconsiderate of your time. That had not been a conscious action by any means. Business matters have gotten the better of me, a few of my contracts have suffered some egregious setbacks. In my attempts to correct the courses, it has left me burning the wick from both ends. I promise that I will make every effort to be here when you need me.”

“Fully here?” He placed a hand on my shoulder. “Not just physically.”

I held my hand out to him. “Honor bound promise.” When he grasped my hand he offered a relieved smile.

“I was worried something else was going on, like your senses were taking leave of you.”

I fought the tension that threatened to enter my hand, releasing his hand as I forced a concealing laugh.

“I mean, the way you were watching Reiniger today it was as though you believed he was going to use his strings to launch the bow at you.”

“Do not be ridiculous, Damrosch. A violin string cannot possibly launch a bow.” But it can be used in another lethal way, not that I would openly remark upon that.

* * * * *

Resting my forehead in my hand, I heard myself muttering aloud the complex array of numbers. No matter how many times I ran through the calculations, it was not adding up correctly. Slapping down the piece of lead upon my study desk, I threw my head back. Why was it impossible for clients to communicate what they wanted before the stones were laid? The only solution I could see to the newest addition to the Ballard mansion plans would require completely reconstructing an entire wall that had already been fully dressed. It was the only way to force the wall to become load bearing. What a tremendous waste of time and materials!

The candle light guttered. A glance revealed that the wax had nearly burnt down, the bottle of red wine I had been nursing barely had a glass remaining. When I had sat down earlier, I had been confident that I could find some clever solution to the dilemma.

“Darling.” Christine gazed across the room from her seat before the fireplace. “Are you no closer to a solution?”

“Regretfully, it is still remaining quite elusive.” I grumbled. “I may as well start the entire bloody project over again. This particular mansion has been nothing but one unrealistic expectation after another.”

Rising, she crossed the room looking at the mess of changes on the vellum. “It is a very strange style, I know it didn’t start that way. It is turning out rather … ”

“Ugly.” I murmured. “If I could find some way to respectfully abandon the project, I would. However, this one seems to be impossible to achieve without compromise.”

“Is that what is bothering you?”

When I met her eyes, they were creased with concern.

“Erik, Damrosch spoke with me today at the Hall. He said he had no choice but to address some serious issues with you. That you haven’t been yourself of late. He was very worried that you are working yourself beyond what you can handle.”

I rolled my eyes. “I am fine. I already assured him I would redouble my efforts to make the Hall a higher priority.”

She offered half a smile. “Honestly, he is correct. You haven’t been yourself lately. It is a rare moment I even see you. And when I do, you are so busy muttering about some measurement or what became of some materials. It is maddening trying to gain your attention for more than a few moments.”

Leaning back in the chair, I took a few breaths before rising to my feet and coming around the desk to embrace her. “Of late, I have scarcely had time for anyone. I am not neglecting you. I am deeply sorry if you feel I have been.” She was about to speak when I placed a finger on her lips. “This whirlwind should settle soon enough. The building season will grind to a halt and then I promise you, I will slow down. The whole of winter you will have my undivided attention.”

Her smile softened as she reached up and stroked my chin. “Next spring I will not allow you to take on this much. I forbid it.”

“It was an oversight.” I shrugged. “A very troublesome one, but I shall manage. Somehow amongst all this, I have to find some time for Charles.”

“He is still not speaking to you?”

Somberly I shook my head. “What little time I have made for him he suddenly becomes scarce. It is nearly time for him to return to Harkness Academy.”

“Perhaps tomorrow?” She suggested. “I can find some way of retaining him.”

My eyes fell to the draft on the desk. “Tomorrow at dawn I will need to be on the Ballard site for some critical adjustments.”

She blew out the candle. Taking me by the arm, we made for the bedchamber. “Then you need your rest.”

“My dear … ”

It was her turn to hush me with a finger. “Someone has to take care of you if you refuse to set reasonable limitations.”


	14. Chapter Fourteen

_ **Chapter 14** _

_ **** _

“But the wall is already finished.” Piero Grimaudo snatched the vellum from my hands, taking in the alterations. “We would lose weeks of work for this.” My foreman cursed in Italian.

“I am not pleased with the situation myself.” I replied. “Several days of my own work went into starting the carvings that likely will not be salvageable. I assure you, it is unavoidable.”

After studying the plans in silence for some moments, he looked up at me pleadingly. “I would never dare to advise you, Sir, but please tell me once this accursed mansion is done, you will no longer build for this client.”

I closed my eyes wearily. “You have my solemn promise.”

“Alright.” Releasing a resigned sigh, he held up the drafts. “We have already wasted time on areas that were changed by this client. I want to be certain I understand what the plan is now.”

“Today the men will need to remove this section of the wall. It is crucial that the corner here remain stable or there is a risk of collapse, which would create yet more work. As we are already behind on this project … ”

“Through no fault of our own.” Grimaudo interjected.

“I do not blame you or the crew for this, however that fact remains true. It is in my highest interest to be rid of this project as swiftly as we can. I trust I can leave this in your capable hands today? The frieze on the Holt mansion is ready for dressing. My presence is required there.”

With a slow nod, he eyed the plans one more time before he sighed. “I will do as much as I can. Once the wall is removed, we will proceed on erecting its replacement. Now, this arch here where is the— ”

A voice over my shoulder interrupted the foreman. “Pardon me. Would you be Monsieur Erik?”

Glancing back, I noted a short man who tipped his hat to me politely.

“I am.” I replied curtly.

He flashed his teeth in a wide smile. “Good.”

That was the last thing I saw as my world went black in an explosion of pain.

Gradually coming to my senses again, I felt cold stone beneath my prone body. The back of my head throbbed. Attempting to lift it, I felt the world swirl even without vision. Not wanting the nausea to grow any further, I left my eyes closed. What had happened? There was that man, the one who had asked who I was. Did something collapse? Chains could fail, stone could fall. Something had struck the back of my head hard enough to render me unconscious, at least briefly. I wondered if perhaps there was even some blood from it.

I shifted my left arm in an attempt to examine my head, only to discover it resisted my effort. Not that the muscles would not obey, there was an unyielding resistance. An odd pressure. Cracking open my eyes, I found myself lying on the floor on my right side in a darkened room. Trying once more to move, I looked down to find both my wrists bound together by a short link of chain secured to a belt locked around my waist. I had been stripped of my fine wool suit and was now clothed in itchy rough spun rags. Shifting my legs, I heard the unmistakable clank of metal links across the floor before feeling the tension halt my efforts. Attached to the wall by a length of chain barely a third of a meter in length, there was but one link between my ankles, offering extremely limited motion.

Panic added a shudder to my breathing as I realized the bindings made it nearly impossible to escape, let alone even sit up. I had been thoroughly bound to a stone wall in some dark and stinking room without even the faintest idea what had occurred. I had to get out of here!

The ache of my head no longer mattered. Pulling with all my strength, I tried to slip my thin wrists through the shackles. For all my pains, I only succeeded in scraping the skin.

“Damn it!” I snarled thrashing against the bonds in a fit of desperation that left me gasping for breath. I was being a fool, this wouldn’t work. I had to get a hold of myself, collect my frantic actions and focus on this. I was an escape artist, after all. It was only the matter of a state of mind that stood between me and freedom from whomever held me captive. Lying still for a moment, I rested my head on the floor, studying the door comprised of interlocked iron bars. The rest of the small barren room was made of mortared stone. There were no windows, the only source of light was a faint cast from the hall beyond. Searching the floor, I noted there was nothing lying around to use as a lock pick. The restraints were tight enough to resist any of my usual tricks to slip out of them. It was nearly as though they had been made to measure for me. This was the work of some professional who had been wise enough to know the benefit of limiting the range of hand motion. Had I been able to do so, I would have applauded them.

The only approach left to me was to rub the shackle against the stone in an attempt to bend the latch pin enough. The repetitious movement produced almost a trance-like state.

“Stop that!” A fist drove into the middle of my back.

I’d never heard the door open, nor the man cross the floor. The blow produced a pained howl from me as I tried to feebly protect myself. What I had hoped to accomplish in the tight bindings not even I knew, but instinct drove me to try anything to get away.

His shadow hovered over me, a man of muscular build holding a thick wooden stick as he sneered down at me. “Our newest guest finally came to. Took you long enough. Don’t look the same without all those fancy cloths. No sir. What a nasty shock you gave the others when they took that mask off.”

My throat tightened as I belatedly realized the bare skin of my forehead had contacted the stone. “Give it back!” I cried out.

He rammed the stick into my chest with enough force to expel the air in my lungs. “Not a chance, monster. This is all you get here, hard as it will be for us to have to look at you. What the hell, you rotting alive or something?”

My hand tightened into a fist. Through gritted teeth I scowled up at him. “Do not call me monster. Strike me again with that stick and I will break it across your skull.”

Leaning down close to me, he waved the offensive weapon. “Like to see you try, freak.”

Anger surged through every muscle in my body, only to be fully absorbed by the links of chain leaving me a finger-length from reaching him.

Throwing his head back, he laughed at my futile effort before placing the edge of the stick against my chin, forcing me to look up into his cruel eyes. “You have no idea what has happened to you, you ugly bastard. This here is where you will spend the rest of your dismal life, with the rest of the criminally insane.”

Thrashing once more, I could not help but think the motion resembled a fish upon dry land, for it was just as productive. “I do not belong here! I am not insane!”

Bringing the stick across my throat, I felt the blow momentarily cease my ability to breathe, before each breath became a racking coughing fit. With that singular blow went my last thread of potential power. Already I could feel the swelling of my larynx. Any chance of entrancing him to bend his actions to my will vanished.

He waited. The sick bastard crouched over me with a grin on his face just watching as I writhed for each breath. At long last, once I was reduced to lying on the floor, each reedy breath a supreme effort, he tapped the floor with the stick. “That’s better. There are rules at the asylum here. You lunatics tend to be rather loud. That’s the first thing you need to learn. Quiet. You’re not going to leave this room — ever. Regardless of how much you might whine or wail. Those restraints are there for a good reason. Word is, you are quite the killer and it was only a matter of time before things caught up with you. Years back, bunch of high class fellows died and word was you had it out for them. Turns out people don’t like a monster in their midst.”

“No.” I sobbed out, trying to push myself up off the floor unsuccessfully. Desperation drove me to try and explain despite the pain of each word. “Was not me … ask Damrosch … ”

Flicking my elbow from beneath me, he chuckled as my head hit the floor. All I saw was an explosion of tiny stars before a low moan escaped me. He stood up, his footsteps echoing as they carried him to the door. “No need. Who do you think made the arrangements.” The lock turned in the door leaving me adrift in pained confusion.

My heart rate increased as the horror of my situation settled in. An asylum? For the criminally insane? Was this how it would all end? I had spent a lifetime with the fear of such a place hanging over my head. These horrific halls where a human life was reduced to a living nightmare of degradation. Bound and caged like a feral beast, every fresh attempt at freedom only producing further misery.

I had no way of knowing in my solitude how many hours or possibly days were passing by. Distantly, I was aware of the anguished wails of the other prisoners, before they were savagely beaten once more into silence. Whether it was by surrender or loss of consciousness, I could not tell from within the confines of my cell. But I was not immune to the rain of agony. Our captors seemed to enjoy provoking the unwilling subjects in this kingdom of hell. Time was but a passage between the door opening to a new brutal series of insults and blows, which we were rendered powerless to resist. If the rest were like me, they only longed to be left alone.

Shivering against the wall, I clung desperately to some vain hope that Christine or Nadir would come to my aid and procure my release. Did they even know where I was? Truthfully, I did not even know the full name of my prison. Would it matter what the name was? It was the last place I wanted to be, the last place I wanted to die in.

The clicking of a tongue broke the immediate silence. I had not heard the door open and shut, but that would hardly be the first time someone had entered without my knowledge. Curling tighter, I tried to hide my face, expecting the usual harsh greeting of a kick.

But it didn’t come.

Slowly, I dared to let my gaze search into the dark room. There, leaning casually against the locked door he stood. Tall and sinewy with raven hair, he was dressed in black, draped in a long cloak. An air of absolute power enveloped him as his long fingers stroked the edges of his satin lapel.

My chain clinked, striking the floor as I jerked upright as far as I could. He was wearing my mask! Trembling with rage I fought my way to my knees as this stranger dared to gaze down upon me in my own mask. I wanted to scream at him to return it, but my still raw throat choked off any efforts above a pained whisper. All I managed was a wordless rasp before I was reduced to coughing.

“What have we here.” The voice was lyrical, pulsing with retained power as he observed me from his lofty height. “Now now, do not fuss. You have already made this situation substantially more uncomfortable than it has to be. By now, you must have learned the reward of a disturbance.”

Sucking in as much air as I could, I concentrated on keeping my voice below the threshold my bruised larynx would permit sound. “That is my mask. I want it back.”

“This?” He lifted a graceful hand turning it in dismissal. “What need do you have of it here? Every eye has already glimpsed the real you. There is nothing to hide any longer.”

I closed my eyes to the sound of the chain links striking one another. The cadence of my trembling carrying through. “Do not tease me.” I nearly lost my fight to keep my voice low enough not to choke.

He laughed as he pushed off from the wall. Long strides carried his upright form smoothly along the entire perimeter of my abysmal cell. Save for within my reach. He was wise enough not to stray that close. “This is such a shameful residence for you, Erik. To think, a man of your unbridled potential rotting away like some demented animal. I found your previous dwelling much more suited to your stature.”

Swallowing, I watched his languid motions as he seated himself on the floor across from me. Bringing a knee up, he rested his arm there while his other hand adjusted a blood red silken cravat about his neck. Silk, such a soft fabric. Against my cut and bruised skin I felt the rough fibers of my own clothing producing the tireless itch I could never scratch. That alone was sufficient to drive a man to madness.

Taking another good breath, I rasped out, “Who are you, some doctor?”

Nodding his head he studied me with unblinking eyes, shadowed by the mask in the darkened room I could not see the irises. “One could say that. One could say many things, really. Except you, it must hurt to speak. Such a shame to have born such an injury so swiftly after being imprisoned here. Or else your release should have been secured.”

I scowled at him darkly as he chuckled.

“Tell me.” The curious note of his voice drifted in the air as he continued to observe me. “Is it colder here at night than during the day? Oh, I suppose you would not know that. I have only just noticed you do not have the luxury of a window. Poor fellow.”

My eyes narrowed to a hostile glare even as I felt my hands flexing, yearning for his throat. If I could reach further, but the iron links held my wrists fast.

Cocking his head at my response, he lifted his hands and held them out wide. “Whatever has triggered such hostility, Erik? I have come to offer relief from your solitude. By the looks of it, no one else has even bothered.”

Lowering my gaze to the floor, I muttered, “You mock me.”

He began to laugh. Not some expression of mirth, but a dark and brooding sound born of malevolence. “That, my friend, takes so very little these days.”

Only sparing him a glare, I commenced a series of small shifts in an effort to turn away from him. On such a paltry length of chain, it took almost an act of genius to gain any maneuverability.

“Come now.” My visitor leaned forward hovering in the corner of my vision, for I could not maneuver sufficiently to block him out entirely. “There is no need to be taciturn.”

All I needed to do was lift my chin a little to expose the bruise I knew must be readily visible for all the trouble it gave me.

“Well.” He rolled a shoulder. “There is _that_ little difficulty. But it is not insurmountable. You can still whisper. So let us share in some wit.”

“I have no time for your barely hidden insults.”

He looked about the room. “Stands to reason, you have all the time in the world. Well, that is until you die.”

My hands clenched, once more the sound of the chains betraying the motion.

“So sad.” His voice was very close. I became aware of his breath against my ear. “To think the man you once were and to see what you have become. How the all-powerful can fall so dramatically from the pinnacle of achievement. Why, why did you ever compromise?”

My shoulders fell under the weight of his words, softly spoken they stung like a lash.

“The world had been yours for the taking. On bended knee before your irresistible song.” He taunted, “Who is on his knees now?”

With a growl, I flung my weight in his direction, hoping that his arrogance had left him within the slight striking range the few chain links afforded. I do not know if I managed to hit him. All I recall was a fit of demented rage before the blackness brought it all to an abrupt end.

When I awoke to half a dozen more bruises and my eye half swollen shut, it was not a difficult deduction to assume I had attracted some unwanted attention to myself. Levering myself off the floor carefully, I hoped that I had managed to leave some scar upon that arrogant visitor that should plague him for the rest of his days.

“Sleep well?”

I had to turn my head a little further for the swollen eye, but there he stood once more. Leaning against the iron door.

Offering me an inclined chin, he smiled beneath the mask. “Do not look so happy to see me. After all, I do have better things to do than waste my time on an old carcass like you.”

Consciously, I had to force myself to breathe. He looked entirely unscathed. Breath after breath, I felt the speed intensifying, the rage inside building as that masked man lingered in the cell. Against my better judgment, I attempted to shout, “Get out!”

Somehow, I doubted there was any power in the rasped cry. But it was loud enough to summon another round of unconsciousness for the disruption.

This time when I opened my eyes, I did not bother to even try to push myself up from the floor. Lying there on the ground, I could sense his presence. That cold masked man haunting the corner of the cell, savoring my misery.

“It does appear that your captors enjoy their job. They are so very quick to respond and very thorough.”

His remark was met with utter silence. When I refused to look at him, he tapped the iron bars with a metal object causing them to ring almost musically. Still, I kept staring blindly at the bare wall.

“No words for me this time?” He mused, “You cannot ignore me forever, Erik. Not when I truly desire your undivided attention.”

Levering myself up very carefully, to avoid aggravating my battered body, I let a low chuckle escape me. “I have figured you out.”

“Oh?” He continued to play music on the bars. “Do tell.”

Closing my eyes, I whispered out. “You are not real. Just some specter likely come from a concussion. Yes, that is all. Just some ghost.”

Slow laughter filled the entire cell, a chilling sound that pulsed like a heartbeat. “I am very real. As real as you are.” His steps echoed, one halting pace at a time as he circled the room. I refused to open my eyes. “What is frighteningly pathetic is that in all this time you have failed to realize the truth. How far you have fallen.”

Right in front of me, he paused. The hem of his cloak brushed against the back of my neck.

“Erik. You were once the most powerful man. Gifted beyond all measure. You had but to speak to unleash your control over anyone you desired. Anything and everything could have been yours. What happened to you? You let the world shackle you. Strip you of your dignity. Bind your greatest gifts to earthly limitations. Why?”

His foot levered against my shoulder, shoving me back against the wall. Still, I refused to look up. Instinct over-riding my efforts, I curled into myself for protection.

“They forged you into a coward. Everything sacrificed for one thing. The chance to be like everyone else.” His fingers reached down and grasped the rough collar of my shirt, forcing me to look into his mismatched eyes.

I gasped as I peered through the mask to see those malevolent eyes pierce me.

“You are not like everyone else, Erik! You never have been, you never well be!” Holding me fast, he flung his hand toward the door.

I was dumbstruck with awe, it seemed so strange seeing myself … not the aged man I had become, but the impulsive youth who once gorged himself on power.

“Your heart has made you foolish and weak. How can you do this to us? The man who once stood unbowed before the shah of Persia now lies dying, bound in chains, mutely accepting beatings. He has become a true living corpse. No one is coming to save you! No one! And yet you turn from me. I am all you have, all you have ever had!”

“Power … ” I began, spellbound by those eyes I had only ever glimpsed in those rare glances in a mirror. My God, they held me mesmerized. Their strange unease capturing the senses, binding them like iron. This man, the one I had once been, dominated everything and I knew without a doubt that even without the restraints, I would have bowed before him in awe.

His words seeped into my veins. He was right. I was nothing like I had once been. I had become a pale shadow content to have a fragile existence in this world.

“Love … ” I stuttered out.

He released the fabric, letting me slide roughly against the wall. “Hah! Love. What was that but some distraction. It costs a man everything. What have you for it?”

I had to force my eyes to close. My thoughts were a turbulent mess, but an overwhelming sense of importance persisted. “She loves me … I live for her.”

“Would you kill for her?” In his hands he deftly rolled a small object with blurring speed. “Oh wait, you already have. You were responsible for the death of her husband, Raoul.”

With a jerk, I looked up into those dark eyes as I protested. “The final strike was not mine!”

Holding out a hand, he smiled mischievously. “You wanted it to be, Erik. Do not lie to yourself. That was slaughter in the purest sense. You knew even before the blade was drawn that he stood no chance in a duel against you. Fencing left-handed gave you a supreme advantage alone, even without factoring how poor of health his own over-indulgences had rendered him. That horse did him a favor. In the many weeks that followed that duel, as you lie in the torturous grip of opium withdrawal … a fate which, I will remind you, your supposed friend took that very opportunity to force upon you … your thoughts circled back more than once on how you had been cheated the _coup de grace_. You cannot deceive me, I know! You had every intention of running the blade through that insufferable cur.”

The venomous hold of that voice stole my ability to think. I could not construct a single sentence in argument.

“And now, you have nothing!” He spun, sending the cloak into a swirl. “Absolutely nothing! You lie here rotting away and the supposed love of your life has not so much as called upon you! Go on, cling to it. Continue to cling to that pathetic belief that you are still capable of being accepted as a human. It is working so well for you.”

Breathless, I felt my shoulder against the wall as I hunched there trembling, lost under the deluge of his reasoning.

“Or … ” He held out a hand to me, that graceful beckoning motion that my muscles knew well for how often they had performed it. It was unnerving to see it, to feel the unwitting pull on the fibers of self. “Realize you have but one salvation in this world. Embrace who you really are.”

I stood there speechless before the power. The pulse of the voice echoed within my head. It felt like I was swimming against a powerful current just to think, the will to resist bending further and further … threatening to break.

Standing … I had not realized I was standing until I had taken a step. The chains lie discarded on the floor.

In shock, I looked once more at the man now at my eye level. His hand offered a small shank of metal, an old lock pick. Mechanically I reached out and took it, staggering toward the iron door despite each painful step.

His low laughter filled my ears. “I am the only one you could ever depend on, Erik. You can never abandon me.”

Desperately, I reached out of the cell. With clumsy fingers I shoved it into the lock. Shaking on the prospect of getting caught, it took me far longer than my normal dexterity would have until the lock yielded. The door swung open, leading to the narrow stone hall with its seemingly endless series of iron doors. Down the corridor I saw it, another barred door. But beyond that was my freedom!

No one stood in the way. It felt as though months had passed since last I had glimpsed daylight! I may have been wrong, but I had no way of knowing. Headlong, I tore down the corridor to the chorus of desperate cries of those still confined within their cells. I had to reach the door! I had to get out of here, that was all that mattered. To leave this hellish place of chains, bars, and beatings behind me.

My hand grasped the iron bar of the door. As I reached through with the pick my knee gave out, smashed by a savage blow from behind. Screaming in agony, I thrashed as I felt their hands dragging me back, back to the darkness, the humiliation, the shame. The laughter! That malevolent laughter filled the air, ringing in my ears.

“Erik! Come back to me!”

I had to get away. I had to block out that sound. Thrashing, I tried to find some purchase, some resistance to push against.

“Erik, stop! What are you doing? Wake up!”

The hands lost their hold. Blindly I made a dash, not caring which way it was, anything was better than that dark isolating cell. I screamed out hoarsely, “No! I will not go back to darkness!” My pathway became barred by stone, I fell against a railing, clinging to it for balance. The laughter still followed me. “Leave me alone!”

“Erik … ” It was a soft desperate cry, distant and distinctly feminine. “Erik, please wake up!”

 _Yes Erik, wake up._ The taunting laugh echoed.

I spun around, pushing my back against the corner. My vision blurred by tears as I wailed out. “Get away from me!”

Arms grasped me tightly, pulling me down even as my knees gave out. I felt a hand stroking my face as I trembled. Opening my eyes I found myself wedged against my balustrade, Christine’s frantic eyes gazing down at me. “Erik, what is wrong?”

I reached out and seized her wrists tightly. She flinched in my grip. If I let go, she might vanish! “I am not insane! I am not crazy! No more darkness!” It became a mantra I was powerless to cease muttering.

“Shh.” Christine freed one of her wrists. Holding my head firmly, she ran her fingers through my sweat soaked hair. “Erik, everything is alright now.”

 _Everything is fine._ The echo was inside my head followed by that insidious laugh.

Frantically I fought to get away, crying out as I struggled to break free. Nadir’s strong hand clasped my shoulder. “Christine, I heard the commotion from downstairs. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.”

Despite my fitful struggles, between the two holding me I lay there hearing their words from a distance. I fought to reach them, swimming in a great turbulent sea towards that tiny island of refuge. I could not reach them.

“Nadir, I woke to him thrashing in the bed. So much so he fell off the edge. When I tried to speak to him, he ran for the balcony. He ran headlong into the railing like he didn’t even see it.” She continued to stroke my head. “Please, my Angel, just calm down. Everything is alright.”

_Nothing to be afraid of._

“Stop torturing me, you monster!” I twisted once more unsuccessfully in her grasp before I felt a glass pressed to my lips. The sweet red wine barely concealed its true purpose, the aftertaste of my sleeping draught.

“That should take him back to a dreamless sleep.” Nadir’s fingers took my wrist, feeling for the pulse.

My eyes opened and closed, barely seeing what was before them as I felt my frantic breathing gradually settle.

“I’ve never seen him like this.” Christine relaxed her death grip on me.

“It does not happen very often.” Nadir continued his hold on my wrist. I was muttering something, I think. “But yes, even Erik suffers nightmares. Why do you think when he chooses to fully sleep he uses the draught. Without it he won’t consciously let himself rest long enough to fall into a deep sleep. He confessed to me once that dreaming is not a luxury he can permit himself to have. There are dangers that lurk in the darkness.”

“Erik, hush now.” She rocked me gently. “No one is going to lock you away. Shh. I promise you, my love. No chains, no bars, not ever.”

“His heart was really racing. It’s slowing back to normal now.” Nadir gently pried open my eye. “I don’t think he really woke up. Some sort of state between states.”

“He was terrified. It was like something was hunting him.”

I shivered not from the cold, but from the laughter. It was still there, a penetrating echo.

Nadir reached under me. Finding no resistance he hefted me up. “Let’s get him back to bed. I suspect he’s just managed to exhaust himself. We’ll have to keep a close eye on him in the morning.”

My eyes cracked open. Christine followed behind, wiping tears from her cheeks. “Well, his plans have just changed for tomorrow. I won’t permit him to leave the house.”


	15. Chapter Fifteen

_ **Chapter 15** _

_ **** _

It had been there the whole of my life, a constant piece of clothing I knew I could not survive without. That would be precisely the feeling, the feeling of being naked. To walk out onto the street without a stitch of clothing would harbor the same feeling in another man. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I let my eyes examine every contour of the white mask I had worn every day of my life, with few exceptions. It permitted me some semblance of dignity, a shield to hide my imperfection behind.

I loathed it. But what choice did I have? Rubbing my eyes to try and clear them, I felt rather dizzy with the motion. The vague sensation of having been drunk on the previous night seemed my closest reference. However, that was not the case, and I knew it. Everything seemed off-kilter in the rays of sunlight reaching into my bedchamber.

I had woken up alone to the familiar sight of my mask on the nightstand and there my thoughts had lingered. Listless in a profound melancholy, it took effort to take up the mask and put it on. More effort was required to drag myself across the room to my black silk robe waiting for me on the chair. Clumsy fingers tried to tie the sash, their actions unguided as my thoughts muddled through uncertainty.

Soft humming carried through the air as I leaned heavily against the door frame trying to focus my blurry vision into my study.

“Christine?” I murmured, half into my hand as I rubbed my eyes again.

The hummed melody ceased and she stood up from her place on the couch. “Oh, my love. I did not wake you, did I?”

“No.” Not quite daring yet to take another step from the offered support of the door, I peered around the study, marking the locations of every object. Something felt very off, from the fog of my thoughts to the slight impairment of my balance. Only one thing could possibly explain it. “Did you drug me last night?”

Hesitantly she approached me, wringing her hands as she stole a glance. “We had to, Erik dear. Nadir gave you some of your draught in the last of the red wine you had been drinking.”

Red wine? Could that be it? I had never before taken the draught at the same time. Perhaps that was all, an herb had interacted to trigger this ill feeling.

Dropping my head into my hand, I muttered. “Never red wine. Never mix it with a red wine.”

Pausing before me, she studied me with grave concern. “Are you alright?”

I tried to offer a smile but I knew the weariness overrode it. “A little dizzy, but that should pass soon enough. Remind me to inform Nadir that was unwise, not that he was to blame. Not even I knew.” A nagging doubt lingered within me, what if it hadn’t been the wine. The previous events drifted in the fog of my memories. Studying my hands, I noted the residue from a stick of drawing lead. No scrapes or bruises. Rubbing my wrist I discovered no evidence of a recent struggle. The mumble escaped me, “How long has it been?”

“Erik?” Pensively Christine reached a hand up, brushing against my neck. “Do you remember last night?”

Somehow, I mastered myself enough to suppress the shudder. Last night … what had transpired last night? Had they only just brought me out of that hell? Bought my freedom? Had some untold time passed by since I had been locked away? Lifting my hand, I once more examined my wrist. Could it be true? A revelation quickened my heart beat as I left the support of the wall. “It was all a dream.” I whispered as my eyes shut tightly in sheer relief. “All a wretched dream. Tell me, what did we talk about before going to bed last night?”

  
Grasping my hand in hers, she met my eyes with a trembling gaze. “That next year you were not going to take on so much work.”

I laughed, reaching down and hugging her tightly to me. “Yes, yes. Of course! Not a day has truly passed. I should have known it was not real.”

When I released her, she clung to my arm, her eyes searching mine. “Erik, tell me what was not real.”

Reaching down, I caressed her face. “Nothing. It has passed now, that is all that matters.” Drifting toward the desk, I felt her hand catch on the sleeve of my robe holding me at bay.

“Please tell me.” She pleaded.

It felt like a shackle closed on my wrist. A shudder ripped through me, the daylight could not banish the memories of the events that had seemed so real the night before. Staggering away, I freed the fabric from her desperate grasp. Firmly, I held out my hand. “I **never** want to talk about it!”

Drawing back, her pained eyes tremored with confusion.

Taking a deep breath, I steadied myself, forcing my voice to soften. “My Angel. Let us leave to the night the shadows that belong to it. I am fine now and you need not fret over a nightmare.”

Cautiously, she took a step toward me, her hands crossing before her. “You frightened me last night. I have never heard you cry out so. No matter what I tried, it was like I could not reach you.”

Glancing over my shoulder to the balcony, I remembered the desperate pleas breaking through. “But you did, my dear. I daresay it was your voice that drew me back.” Turning around, my eyes lingered on the desk for a moment. The drafts, there was something about the drafts. Time. Something had been very important about today. Drifting toward the desk, I searched my mind. “What time is it?” Of course I knew by the daylight it had to be late morning, I was supposed to have been somewhere early. “Oh God! The Ballard mansion! I should have been there at dawn!”

As I made a dash for the bedchamber, Christine blocked my way. Placing a hand on the center of my chest, she shook her head vehemently. “No, Erik! Not today.” She was on the verge of hysteria, her shaking hand closing tightly onto the edge of my robe. “You have been working too hard lately. You can’t go to the site today! I won’t let you leave!”

“I can not linger.” I tried unsuccessfully to soften my voice. “Christine, we have fallen behind. If I waste a day that situation will only grow infinitely worse.”

Taking a shuddering breath, she embraced me. “That is not important. Erik, please I need to see some stability in you. Stay, for me.”

 _For me_ … my breath left me slowly as I laid a hand on her shoulder. That was all she ever needed to say, for I could not refuse her. I wondered, not for the first time, if she knew the power those words held over me. Leaning into her, I laid my chin in her hair taking a long moment to just exist in her embrace, the embrace that anchored me in this world.

“Alright.” I sighed. “Alright, you win. I will stay. But only for today. As it is, I have no idea how to even begin to make up for lost time.”

Her frantic hold relaxed at my words, her fingers uncurling to leave behind the wrinkles her panic had pressed into the fabric. “You can work on the composition … for Damrosch. That needs to be done as well, and you promised him.”

I smiled down at her, thankful that she had not been permanently torn from my life. Grateful that it had all been tortured visions from the prison of my mind.

“Would some tea help you feel better?” She cocked her head. “I could go fetch some from the kitchen.”

If it made her feel better to help, and honestly I wondered if a piping hot cup might help to finish clearing my head. “If you wish to.”

Dancing off towards the door, she waved. “I’ll be right back up. Don’t you dare try sneaking off. I mean it, Erik. I won’t let you leave here today.”

Taking in a lungful of air, I let it out slowly as I drifted into the bedchamber to get dressed. The feeling of the fine fabrics against my skin was not something I had ever paused to consider before. I found my fingers yearning to scratch the persistent memory of the rough rags. Buttoning up my vest, I wandered out into the study feeling relief in the tailored cut. Slipping on my signet ring, I felt the weight upon my right little finger. I was a dignified gentleman, not some ragged creature.

I slid out the stack of vellum that comprised the lengthy symphony, glancing over the red inked notes to remind me what I had written thusfar. Melodies carried through me as the internal music that governed my existence converged. The moment my fingers touched the piano keys, the fog dispelled, restoring my mind to absolute clarity. I lost myself in the intricate patterns as note by note they forged themselves in a fire of passion. Beyond the piano, the world no longer existed to me … the music became my sustenance.

Part by part composed itself between keys and quill. An untold sequence of notes poured through the conduit of my mind and body before I paused to find Christine observing me silently from her seat upon the couch.

“Darling.” Glancing at her, I dipped the quill into the red ink pot to commit to the composition the next segment. “There is hardly a need to watch me like a hawk. Have I not proven myself fine since this morning?” The chimes of the mantle clock called out two in the afternoon.

Rising from the couch, she glided across the room with a soft smile. “I wasn’t so much watching you … as listening.” Coming to my side, she picked up a page and her eyes drifted through the harmonies before her. “This is inspired, Erik. A masterpiece if I have ever heard one.” Picking up a second part she looked them over side by side. “So complicated, and yet the patterns feel … natural. Where is this coming from?”

My eyes shifted longingly to the window. “I would show you, however someone has forbidden me to leave the house today.”

Laying the pages down upon the lid of the piano, she took my hand. “Perhaps for a bit of fresh air an exception may be granted. Where are we going?”

I let her pull me to my feet. “Just across the street to Central Park.”

As the iron gilded oak door opened to the outside world I inhaled the fresh air with a whole new appreciation. Rays of bright sunlight warmed my shoulders as we stepped carefully across the cobblestones. It felt good to move, to breath, to exist in the world. Each time I closed my eyes to open them again refreshed my gratitude that the past night had been only a passing shade and not a realized fate. Beside me, Christine’s eyes drifted over the lush growth of Central Park as we made our way along the path toward the pond. Drawing up beside the waters I paused, waiting on the banks, the water rippled in the afternoon light casting refractions into the green canopy.

“What are we looking for?” She searched high and low until I held up a finger for silence.

My eyes gestured off toward a bend, as a regal pair of swans drifted along. I began to hum one of the movements from the composition. The theme matched the elegance of the birds as they paraded through the water, flashing their wings to cast a spray of droplets into the air.

Christine’s eyes widened in awe. As she was about to speak, a peregrine falcon dove out of the sky pulling up just before it would have struck the water. Abandoning the elegant accompaniment to the swans, I switched to the rapid movement I had composed for this bird of prey.

His tune was replaced a short span of time later when a pair of mourning doves sang softly to one another on a bench. Our feet carried us along the pathway and as each new bird winged his way into our world, I altered to a new movement.

Christine cast her gaze in every direction within the park when at last I had fallen silent. “I can see them in your music. The beautiful birds of the air taking wing. Erik, it is brilliant.”

Staring into the azure sky, I took a moment just to relish the warmth of the day. “ _The Aviary._ That is the name of the entire symphony.” I waved a hand to the surrounding trees. “The birds hold a kingdom amongst themselves, each one believes he is a king unto himself. And so they gather to sing, to compete for the ruler of all bird-kind. Each movement is one of their songs to prove who is the greatest among them.”

Clasping her hands, she simply glowed with the anticipation as she begged like a child paging to the end of a book to spoil the tale. “And who shall reign?”

A small brown shadow flitted through the branches, a fleeting glimpse before he vanished once more. His voice echoed into the wood with wild abandon.

“No one.”

Christine placed a hand on my arm. Try as she might, my eyes remained vigilant for another glimpse of the little bird. “No one? Surely one bird’s song must prove finer than all others.”

I shook my head, closing my eyes as I let all the threads weave together in my mind. “Every bird’s voice is but a harmony in the grand piece. Each one but a part that comprises the whole, and without even a single one, the symphony is incomplete. Thus, every song within the piece is a key, crucial to the balance. So even the most gifted among the kingdom remains but a harmony, complex or otherwise.”

For a long moment she stood there, my words sinking in before she looked into the distance. “All those harmonies … every one you wrote will be … ”

“… played as one movement in the end.” I bowed my head. “Why do you think it has taken me over a year to write it?”

Astonished, she tried to reply a few times before shaking her head.

His voice called out in song, in a flash of brown wings, he soared from the brush to circle me before alighting on my outstretched hand.

“A nightingale?” Christine watched as he shifted his wings, his beady black eyes appraised her before he released a string of melody. “I only saw one once, caged in a market back in France. Never have I seen one in the wild. I didn’t know they were here.”

Stroking his back, I smiled sadly. “They are not native to here. This one was released from a cage … by me. Unless others have done likewise, he is quite alone here.”

Hopping to my wrist, he twisted his head back and forth observing his reflection in the plain gold cufflink. A few notes carried out from his throat before he looked up at me with a small nod of his head. Spreading his wings, he flew back into the protection of the shadowy trees.

She tracked his flight. “Poor fellow.” When I glanced down at her curiously she went on. “He will sing his heart out in search of a mate he can never find.”

I took a few steps back toward the mansion, unable to glance her way. “The greatest song of longing the world will ever know is the love song of an isolated nightingale.”

Strolling beside me, Christine glanced over her shoulder. “He should win, Erik. You should let the nightingale win.”

Somberly I shook my head. “He cannot win this time.”

Her hand upon my elbow stayed me. “Why?”

I reached down and cradled her chin. “Because he already sacrificed that crown for a greater prize.”


	16. Chapter Sixteen

_ **Chapter 16** _

_ **** _

The following morning, to the faint rays of the rising sun, I pushed Faust into a full run toward the grounds of Ballard mansion. Hardly casting the building a glance, I summoned Grimaudo without dismounting.

“Gather the crew, you are to bring them to the site of the Holt mansion with all due haste.”

“Sir?” Pulling his cap from his head, the foreman wrung the dust covered fabric in his callused fingers. “What about this project?I had understood there were some changes.”

Sensing my impatience, Faust’s hooves kicked us in a circle. I sneered at the waste of stone I knew would be coming with the alterations. “This client is rising my ire with the string of ridiculous requests. I have more respectful clients with better taste. We will redistribute the crew over those projects. This one can wait until the client can afford some manners. I will see you shortly for your new instructions.”

Knowing full well my instructions would be followed, I turned Faust toward the south and drove him hard back toward the lavish dwellings along 5th avenue. There was little pleasure to the morning ride as the list of tasks I had to coordinate ran through my head. Deadlines were quickly approaching for no less than three of the projects, Carnegie Hall’s studio tower project had encountered several complications and the Holt mansion were among these. The Holt family was impatiently awaiting their new home. However a series of delays had managed to force me to reluctantly push back the completion date more than on one occasion. From once loyal crew members leaving my employment to shipments of imported stone failing to arrive, this house, which should now be occupied was still lacking most of its roof. I accepted now that it be would impossible to complete every project I had arrogantly taken on this building season. However, I was determined to complete as many as I could by shifting some resources strategically.

Barely letting Faust come to stop, I dismounted. Releasing the strap, I swung the bag over my shoulder and climbed up onto the scaffolding in front of the entrance. A full story above the hard packed earth, the peaked entrance held the rough cut of an elaborate scrolling frieze, one of my ambitious promises. The focal point of the entire mansion, this detail had to be balanced and perfect. Laying out the tools of my trade I proceeded with the work until I heard footsteps upon the scaffolding.

“The crew is here, Sir.” Grimaudo cast his eyes over the stonework approvingly. “We are at your command.”

“Good.” I drove the fine chisel along the edge of a decorative swirl. “I have always known you to be a perceptive fellow, Grimaudo. My instructions shall reflect that. The western wall here still needs completion. The stones should only need a little refining before being lifted. By the end of today it is my desire that the building be ready to fully receive the roof.”

He nodded stiffly, casting his eyes over the work site. “That is a lot to accomplish before the daylight fades.”

Switching the chisel, I replied, “Then why are you still standing here?”

Perched on the scaffolding, the chaotic sounds of the work site became a cadence of chisel strikes and gang calls as Grimaudo drove the crew from ground level. Stone after stone was being hoisted over my right shoulder to join the wall. Like a machine, the coordinated group made steady progress so that, by the time the sun blazed at its zenith, and I chanced a sweeping gaze over the site, there was no denying we stood a faint chance at meeting the goal.

Wiping a bead of sweat from beneath the mask, I turned back to observe my own progress. The heads of four rearing horses cresting the central peak had already taken shape. Graceful swirls embraced their untamed forms, suggesting a powerful wave engulfing them. Each horse’s body, when he was complete, would be life-size. Returning to the task, I set the chisel alongside the powerful chest of the horse and nipped away the details. The leg was taking shape when I noted a rather distracted shadow to my right.

Staying the mallet so as not to make a poor strike, I turned to face the visitor clinging to the wall. “Nadir. I thought you hated heights. I can never get you to even come to the balustrade on my rooftop.”

His white knuckles were in stark contrast to his normally olive toned skin. With a deep swallow he nodded, shifting his eyes between the drop and me. “I **do** hate heights.”

I chuckled, throwing a glance over my shoulder. “A single story really is not that far of a drop. I barely give it a thought compared to the scaffold heights I am more accustomed to working on.”

With a slight tremble, he fixed his eyes on me, now refusing to look at the edge of the wooden planking. “Shouldn’t you have a rope securing you or something?”

“No.” Taking the mallet back to the edge of the chisel, I shifted along the frieze to the other leg of the horse. “That would get in the way, slow my progress. The last thing I require now is more delays.”

“Oh.” He leaned very heavily against the stone, as far as possible from the edge. “Then you probably won’t be happy with what I have come to tell you.”

“What is that?” Walking the chisel’s edge along the horse leg, I left extra stone for the joint.

“Well, a Mr Ballard stopped by with another addition to the mansion.”

In mid swing, I halted the mallet, lowering it until I felt the wood plank take the weight. My jaw clenched up. “Ballard? _Again_?”

Nadir nodded stiffly. “I took down everything he told me and left it in your study.”

Overwhelmed by the need to hit something I shifted the chisel to a deep cut between the horse’s legs. I slammed the mallet down in a series of strikes, freeing the large chuck that would need to come out. It did not help to improve my mood as I had hoped it would. “They can stay there! For the time being I am through with his petty games! What does he think, that I am strictly building for him? That his changes have no impact elsewhere?”

“I only wanted you to know.” His voice rose in discomfort with each swing of the mallet. “In case you had already proceeded with the latest change. I found the Ballard site deserted before coming here. Allah, how do you do this!”

“I do not have time for idle chatter.” I resumed nipping off smaller chunks of stone, forcing my temper down. “Nadir, scaffolding is no place for a man of more delicate nature.”

“A dread of falling means I am delicate?” he scoffed.

Shifting my foot to get a better angle on the carving resulted in the board Nadir had been standing on to move beneath him. Alarmed, he crouched down against the wall, breathing heavily.

I could only spare a distracted smile. “Nadir, I am responsible for you up here. Now go home, I am quite busy trying to make up for lost time.”

“It is beautiful.” He remarked carefully edging his way toward the ramp that brought him up here. “But I do believe I prefer the view from the ground. I’ll leave this terrifying place to the likes of you.”

“Good day, Nadir.” He timidly turned on the edge of the platform, when I heard a strange squeal fill the air. Snapping my gaze away from the carving, the tools fell from my hands. In a glance I saw the shard of metal propelled into the air as the chain link shattered. It was the rear chain that held an immense stone block suspended from a crane. It was in the process of lifting it into place to the right side of my scaffold. Already gravity had seized the stone, swinging it in a wild arc to the alarmed cries of the men below.

“Nadir!” Throwing myself forward, my hands struck him in the back, sending his body into a roll down the ramp.

A second later, the block’s pathway carried it with a gust over my head, just barely missing me! If either of us had been standing, the tons of stone would have resulted in an instant death. Colliding with the solid facade of the wall, the block exploded, shattering the scaffolding below me as huge chunks of broken stone and mortar traveled their destructive paths. The boards beneath me snapped, nothing left to stop the plummet toward the earth. Twisting in mid air, I scrambled to latch onto something, anything … one moment I was falling, the next my path had changed. The force against my left side threw me out further into a wild spin before I landed in the dirt.

Chaos! Everything around me was a series of distant chaotic cries. Try though I might, my eyes refused to open. Something was dreadfully wrong. When I tried to inhale, nothing seemed to happen. An attempt to exhale yielded no better a result. Even with my eyes closed I felt the world sliding away.

I couldn’t breathe. Oh God! I couldn’t breathe!

“Erik!” Nadir’s voice echoed from so very far away. “Erik! Open your eyes! Say something! Erik!”

But I couldn’t … there was no air.

* * * * *

Dragged across the grating coals of gradual consciousness, I faintly became aware I must still be alive to some degree. I was barely hovering in the blackness. Sluggishly, I shifted a foot and felt it respond with some reluctance. Motion, motion was a good thing. If I could move my foot, I was not paralyzed. An experimental wriggle of the fingers told me both my hands were still capable of motion. With relief, I drew in a deep breath—and screamed it out in a wail I quickly came to regret. For that deep breath was the last I was capable of taking.

The searing pain bit into me with each attempt to gasp in air. With every minute motion it felt as though a pack of dogs tore the muscles between my ribs. I opened my eyes only to have them involuntarily clamp shut against the spasms of agony.

“Thank Allah!” Nadir grabbed my hand. “Erik, thank Allah you woke up! Just keep breathing, as deep as you can.”

Easy for him to say! Gritting my teeth, I hissed in a short breath until the sharp stab of pain aborted the attempt. I couldn’t get enough air. It felt like I was drowning. My desperate gasps failed to come even close to my needs. Writhing, I tried to find some way to relieve the pressure, tried to find some position that would allow me more air. Nothing worked, nothing changed.

“You need to lie still.” He winced as I dug my nails into his hand, shaking with my efforts to breathe. “Erik, you fell from the scaffolding. A piece of stone struck you on your left side. By some miracle that happened in mid air or you surely would have been killed. The ribs are bruised at the least, perhaps broken, I could not be certain through all the swelling. I bound them just in case. You’ve been unconscious for three hours.” His other hand came down upon my shoulder. “Come on, you have to slow down and try to take deep breaths.”

Tangling my hand in the blanket, I discovered I was in fact in my own bed. Lying my head back on the pillow, I tried to concentrate enough to stop the frantic gasps. I had almost succeeded when a spasm racked me into releasing what little breath I had gained in a strained cry.

“I can’t breathe!” I rasped out.

Nadir shook his head. “Don’t waste your efforts on speaking. You are breathing, more than you know. But you have to try and keep it steady. Writhing isn’t going to help.”

Tightening my grip on his hand, I shut my eyes. “It hurts!”

“Believe me, Erik, I know it hurts. Just try and take one breath at a time. I can hardly believe you regained consciousness within three hours, I would have thought longer given the collision at the work site.”

It struck me, like another blow. The site! “How bad … is it? … I have … to know!” Foolishly I struggled to sit up. The moment my chest muscles took the weight, my consciousness swirled violently.

“No, Erik … stay with me. Don’t black out. There we are, that’s better. Erik, you have to stay in bed.” He pried my fingers from his hand, lowering my trembling arm to rest on the blanket. Resting had been his intention, but I found the fingers gripping the fabric tightly.

Panting for every breath, I shook my head. “I have to know!” A sense of panic drove me to a shaking fit beneath the thin blanket.

Christine pushed in beside the bed, shoving him back as she placed a tray containing ice on the nightstand. “Nadir, go to the site. Get a report for him.” As he was about to protest, she glared up at him. “He won’t rest until he knows! Now go!”

Without waiting for his reluctant departure, she turned her concerned gaze down to me. “Every day you went off to the building sites I was always afraid this would happen.” She ran her fingers through my hair as I tried feebly to lie still. Every motion made the fire worse. “My God, didn’t I tell you I was afraid you might get seriously hurt?”

A hot tear rolled from my eye. “Please … no lectures … ” I panted before another spasm tore through me, forcing the air from my lungs in an anguished cry.

“Shh.” She leaned down and kissed my forehead. “Just keep breathing, my love. That is all you need to do now.” Reaching over she began to prepare an icepack. “When Nadir brought you home, we could barely see your chest rising for the swelling. He was not even certain you were breathing at first. He felt terrible, ranting that he could not live with himself if your efforts to save his life left me a widow.”

“Christine … ” Releasing my desperate hold on the blanket, I tried to find her hand. The effort cost me dearly as the motion traveled down from my shoulder to aggravate my ribs.

Her hand against my forehead was cold, dripping from the melted ice water. “The day is sweltering and the heat is not good for that swelling. This should help bring some of that down.”

Pulling back the cover, she pressed the wrapped ice against the tight linen binding. My body arched away of its own accord. The initial contact burned. But her soft hand firmly pressed me back against it. “Give it a little time. Hopefully it will numb it enough to allow a little ease to your breathing.” Taking my hand in hers, she rubbed the back of it in a slow motion. “You remember the singing exercises you taught me. Just breathe with me. Nice and slow. Deep breaths.”

My attempts were shaky. Labored and full of fitful starts and stops. I kept my eyes locked on her, trying to push through each tortured breath. Monumental effort for each tiny victory.

Outside the window, the sky was growing dark when Nadir finally hovered in the bedchamber doorway. His eyes refused to meet mine.

Christine broke the silence. “How bad?”

“I … ” His voice broke as he shook his head. “I would rather not say.”

All I could do was rasp out a few words. “Nadir … tell me.”

“There were a few minor injuries from falling debris.” He began slowly, his fingers preoccupied with the buttons on his vest. “Signor Grimaudo tells me those workers will recover within a week at most. However … ”

Snapping my fingers with impatience, I was rewarded with seeing him jump.

His eyes locked onto mine, snapping him out of his stuttering. “The collision destroyed the better part of the front wall, including much of the frieze you had been working on. He suspects the accident compromised the integrity of that entire wall and thus, demolished at least three weeks of work. Likely more, especially with you bedridden.”

My eyes rolled back into my head as the extent of the damage struck on me. I wanted to scream! I wanted to lash out with a vengeance upon the chain link that failed and brought this to bear! I would have done anything to be able to get a lungful of air sufficient to even begin to express the anger! None of it was possible.

Tears flowed from my eyes, wrought with frustration and despair. Quiet sobs escaped me, despite the pain they brought I did not suppress them. I **could** **not** suppress them as I realized, with that single fallen block not only had I been temporarily crippled, but so had the foundation of my empire. How would I climb out of this? The building season was not infinite, there was only a few more months if the weather held out. It would be a miracle if I should recover sufficiently to see more than a few weeks of what was left. I was ruined by some horrid twist of fate.

* * * * *

It was another blazing hot day, the heat only adding to my misery as I lay in bed accompanied by the sound of my ragged gasps. Even the light weight of the blanket had made things worse, leaving me uncovered from the waist up and exposing the linen bindings. Nadir had seen fit to bring in the set of magician orbs from my desk, knowing of the relief they brought my troubled mind. Troubled it was indeed! However, I discovered that shifting the glass orbs in a series of patterns with my right hand resting on the bed, still pulled on the muscles. Everything was interconnected with the chest muscles! I let my left hang over the edge of the bed, fighting the urge to scream out in frustration. I needed to be working, not lying here concentrating on breathing. Overnight the swelling had pressed miserably against the binding. I suspected Nadir would need to adjust it fairly soon. There was nothing that I dared to take for the pain. Chances are it would suppress my efforts to breathe enough to let an infection build in my lungs. That would be all I should need now, a raging case of inflammation of the lungs to finish off the job the stone had started.

With a sigh, I tried to shift just two of the little orbs between my dexterous fingers, while wondering when Christine would return from running a few errands. Nadir was acting sheepish as ever, only darting in and out of the room briefly. Guilt was written all over his features. It did not seem to matter how many times I tried to rasp out that I was not upset with him.

The sound of a commotion carried from downstairs, voices echoing on the stones. I distinctly picked out Nadir’s protests. Someone was apparently coming upstairs who shouldn’t be.

Reaching over gingerly, I snatched the mask from the nightstand and put it on. The motion hurt, but I would not be seen without it.

“I am telling you, he can’t see anyone today!” Nadir’s tight jawed protest came from my study.

“He’s here! And I have quite an earful for him!”

Damrosch? His voice pulsed with anger.

“After his promise to make the Hall his highest priority and he’s not only late for the next rehearsal, he doesn’t even show up! Erik! Where the hell are you!”

Better to get this over with. I wasn’t about to try and call out to him with what little breath I had. Glancing at the orb I tossed one to my left hand and sent it rolling across the floor out the door.

“Erik?” Damrosch’s stern voice called out. “Is that you?”

Moments later he walked through the door tossing a hand in the air. “Still in bed, at this hour! Did you know you missed a re … ” It dawned on him slowly. The color drained from his face as he took in the sight before him. “Oh my God! I had heard there was an accident yesterday! I didn’t realize it had involved you. Are you alright?”

I took my time to inhale as deeply as I dared before whispering, “If I can keep breathing … given time I should heal.”

Sitting down in the bedside chair, his eyes searched the bandages. “What happened?”

“Gravity.” I sighed.

Lingering at the foot of the bed, Nadir muttered. “He makes light of it now. But a large block of stone nearly killed him when it broke loose from the crane.”

Closing my eyes, I grumbled wearily, “It would have been you … had I not shoved you … out of the way.” I was forced into silence to take a few breaths before my weak voice would let me continue. “Now … if you are only … going to continue … your guilt trip … do it downstairs.”

Damrosch watched him leave before he turned back to me, shock still evident. “The whole rehearsal I was convinced that you had been so busy working you had neglected to come.”

“I was busy … ” Taking a moment for a few more struggled breaths I concluded, “ … laboring for breath.”

Beginning to rise, he shook his head, “I am so sorry, Erik. I should go.”

I reached out a desperate hand, unable to close the distance. “No … no … please stay. It is perfect misery … lying here alone. Christine has left … to run some errands while … Nadir is so guilt stricken … I have been trapped here … alone for hours on end … without distraction.” I tried to offer a slight smile, but my effort was dashed by a coughing fit. After I recovered, I rasped out, “The distraction is nice.”

Sitting back down, he eyed me curiously. “It sounds like it takes quite a lot of effort to speak.”

I nodded. “For lack of air.” Closing my eyes I tried to take a deep breath, reaching the threshold far below full capacity. The effort left me wincing.

“That’s all you can manage?”

When I opened my eyes, I noted his were creased with worry. “That is it … I assure you, … I would give anything … to get out of bed right now.”

He leaned back studying the bandage. “I’m not sure that is wise, Erik. Do you know how swollen your side is?”

I gave him a sidelong glance. “I am breathing against it … am I not? Of course I know.” The damage was indeed worse then I wanted to acknowledge. It was always in my nature to push through pain. Closing my eyes, I sighed. “Tell me how the rehearsal went … anything other than this.”

He chuckled. “A distraction, I understand. All things considered, it went well.”

Note by note, Damrosch’s voice carried through the events of the Symphony Society’s rehearsal. I listened without comment, content to just hear about an event I should have attended. It was so much better to have another voice to cover each breath I still struggled to take. He was reaching the final movement they had practiced, when a pair of shadows darkened the door.

I glanced over to see Piero Grimaudo twisting his hat in his hands, his expression graver than I had ever seen. Nadir stood just blocking his path, looking very displeased at yet another visitor desiring admittance.

“Erik, he insisted he had to speak with you.”

I waved the man in with a feeble gesture.

The foreman hastily came up to the side of the bed. Coming down on his knees he bowed his head. “You’re still alive, Sir! I can hardly believe it, but somehow you’re still alive.”

Shifting back in the chair, Damrosch studied the newcomer.

“I will live.” I whispered out, not wanting to try and push things too much. “I have already received … a report from the site … why have you come?”

Grimaudo swallowed hard, haunted eyes meeting mine. “Sorry to trouble you in your home, Sir … but, there is something you truly must see with your own eyes.”

This man, Piero Grimaudo, a loyal foreman in my employ since he broke his first stone in my quarry, was not known to be a troubled man. Kneeling at my bedside he appeared for all intents and purposes to have seen a ghost. Shifting ever so slightly, I tested my side. It would be foolish, but, once more looking into this man’s eyes I knew this was not something words would easily disclose. “Are you certain I must bear witness?”

He nodded his head, wringing dust from his cap. “Sir, seeing you as you are I would not dare to suggest it if there was another way. Can you manage it to the site?”

I took a few breaths to steel myself. “It is only a few … blocks from here. Nadir … ”

“Erik!” In the doorway Nadir held out his hand in protest. “There is no way you can go there.”

Beside me Damrosch’s eyes widened.

“If Grimaudo tells me I must … I must.” Gritting my teeth, I made a show that I was going to get up with or without the help. This was really going to hurt if no one helped.

Nadir darted over with a string of Persian curses. Carefully, he aided in levering me up to the side of the bed. Arching my back, I was forced to release a cry of pain through gritted teeth as raw swollen muscle rubbed against bone. For a brief moment, the ground swirled as I chased my breath. When I opened my eyes again, I found not only Nadir but Damrosch supporting me on the edge of the bed.

Calling over his shoulder, Nadir dismissed Grimaudo. “Go tell them to prepare the carriage if he insists upon this. It will take us some time to get him downstairs.”

Indeed it did. Time to get a shirt that barely buttoned over the linen binding. Time for a vest that there was no way in hell to force buttoned. Nadir did not even attempt a coat. It took both Nadir and Damrosch’s aid to help me stagger down the stairs. I say that out of pride, the truth was they practically carried me. By the time we reached the carriage, I collapsed into the seat gripping my side while rivulets of sweat dripped freely. The jostle of the moving carriage rapidly reduced my existence to a miserable attempt not to cry out.

“Erik.” Damrosch laid a hand on my shoulder. “Are you certain you need to do this?”

I closed my eyes against a stab of pain before nodding. “Almost … there.” Blessedly, we were. The Holt mansion was located along the opulent blocks of 5th avenue. We only needed to round the south end of Central Park and travel up the east side. I could have walked, save for the injury.

When we arrived, once more Damrosch and Nadir supported me as we staggered a short distance from the carriage. I couldn’t see anything, my eyes shut tightly as I had the men set me on the ground leaning my right side against a stone to collect myself. I had no hope of remaining standing. This had been a mistake, I was beyond dizzy and frighteningly close to fainting. Each breath was an audible gasp.

Minutes passed before I opened my eyes to glance up at Grimaudo. “What … what is it … ”

His eyes traveled very slowly to an object just about level with my eyes. The thick metal lengths of a chain hung over the edge of the stone. I stared long and hard, clearing the sweat from my eyes more than once as I felt my breath refuse to be drawn … this time not from any wound, but from the sight before me. Adrenaline surged through me, a momentary reprieve from the agony and lending a temporary strength to my voice.

“Grimaudo.” I gasped out when at last I found my voice. My hand trembled against the stone. “All work is to cease immediately. Every piece of equipment from the cranes down to the smallest chisel is to be examined. You are to replace whatever is necessary. All workers are to be examined, once more replace whatever is necessary. This is to be conducted by you personally, and you are to report directly to me. Am I understood?”

He nodded firmly. “Then I was right to show you, Sir?”

“You were! It would have been incredulous without a firsthand account.” I closed my eyes, shuddering. “Now go.”

His footsteps carried him off to his duty. After a long moment, Nadir knelt down beside me. “Erik … what is it?”

“This was no accident.” I brushed my hand over the remnants of the thick metal chain feeling the undeniable marks of a rough file. “Someone intended for this chain to fail.”

Damrosch leaned forward, his eyes widening as he saw what I was indicating. “My God! You don’t think that you were the intended victim, do you?”

Hunched beside the stone, the air thinned. Each breath grew more difficult to achieve as the fleeting power of the adrenaline rush drained away. “Not sure … Christine, do not tell … Christine.”

“Whoa, Erik.” Nadir moved underneath me, holding me up as I felt my head fall backwards. “You’re blacking out. We need to get you home. Damrosch, give me a hand.”

We were in the carriage before I knew it, in a miserable jostling ride back the few short blocks. I fought hard for every breath as Nadir tried to hold me upright. “I think the binding shifted. It supposed to help him breath, now I think it is hindering him. Damrosch, when we get him upstairs, can I ask your help?”

“Anything.”

Somehow I ended up on my right side lying in my bed. I suspect I had momentarily lost consciousness. Damrosch’s knee supported my right shoulder while Nadir carefully unwrapped the linen to a gradual release. Though they were doing their best, I was left gritting my teeth and whimpering.

“There we are.” Nadir withdrew from my side. “Let me get a fresh strip.”

Damrosch hissed in a breath. “How on earth is he even breathing! I don’t know what is blacker—one of his coats or that bruise!”

Even if I had wanted to, I couldn’t look. My eyes clenched tight of their own accord. Articulate speech was entirely out of the question.

“In case you are wondering,” he called out to Nadir, “his diaphragm has got to be bruised. No wonder he is struggling to breathe.”

“I assumed as much, which was why I had bound his ribs in the first place.” Nadir’s voice came closer. “Alright, let’s make this quick as possible. I just need enough clearance for the linen to get through.”

The moment Damrosch shifted me, I arched my head and cried out, the burning pain stole my breath.

“Stop moving, Erik.” Nadir made the first pass, pulling the fabric tight. “Damn it, it slipped. This was much simpler when you were unconscious.”

I’d rather be unconscious! I would have loved to have snapped. But all that escaped me was pitiful moan.

After a brief battle he had managed to set the first few passes, each one now proceeding smoother. Exhaustion was setting in, taking my ability to resist the efforts.

“Nearly done.” Nadir called out.

There was a slight shift before Damrosch inquired. “What is all this on his back? Are these scars? They look like … ”

“Welts.” Came the reply.

I tried to find the breath to protest. No, Nadir! Stop!

“Easy, Erik, I told you I am nearly done.” He tugged the next pass tightly before continuing on. “Those scars were old when I first met him. Lashes from a whip.”

A finger traced one, then another. “That meant he had to have been a boy … ”

“No one could have possibly accomplished that feat once Erik had reached manhood. I can assure you of that.” Nadir replied without a pause, another pass cinched tight against the swelling. “You have a good memory if you can deduce that he had been a child from what little he has shared with you. I know he has told you he was among the Gypsies for a time. The brute who held him captive believed a sound lashing was the only way to subdue a disobedient boy. At first Erik had been powerless against him.”

Stop! I don’t share that part of my life with just everyone, you fool!

“Dear Lord, there must be hundreds of scars.”

Nadir sighed, securing the end of my linen binding. “If I would have known that dark detail when first I had laid eyes on him it should not have surprised me that the boy who endured that much humiliation had grown into a man who blatantly refused to bow before the shah. Any other man would have been executed for such a slight, but not Erik. He moved with a confidence about those halls as though he himself had every right to them. I assure you, in the time spent in the Persian courts, nearly everything he did mystified me, often it infuriated me. For I had assumed to be in the presence of spoiled overindulgent eccentric … I had failed to see his behavior stemmed from quite the opposite—a desperate starvation for acceptance. That realization would not come until our paths crossed once more decades later when he began to lift the veil concealing his past, at last giving me the chance to see his true genius.”

Hands guided me down to be cradled by the bed. They had left me on my right side, sucking in short bursts of air, shaking with the effort.

“When he spoke, he made it sound like his time among the Gypsies held many revelations.”

“It did. Likely those years forged some of his greatest skills.” Nadir replied almost with reverence. “He found their music hauntingly beautiful, their knowledge of healing and herbalism fascinating, the arts of deception and physical manipulation were but daily lessons. That is one of Erik’s most astonishing gifts. Where a normal man would falter and break, his remarkable drive for knowledge sustains him. From the dregs of devastation, his masterful hands can prize loose the most astonishing gems of hidden knowledge.”

Nadir, I mouthed his name but no sound came out. Why was he still talking? Why?

“Thus, a once small boy held captive and beaten into forced compliance only gained a preternatural resilience and acquired an unrivaled knowledge of healing and herbs. As an entertainer, he mastered the skills to captivate any who laid eyes on him. Had he not endured to become one of the most astonishing magicians in the world, I never would have been sent from Persia to find him. Damrosch, I daresay that I never would have ventured from my narrow-minded life in Persia at all. I left to experience the world that I had only seen through his unbelievable stories … only to discover that I had but to open my eyes to see the truth. I have known few men strong enough to drag the chains of such a past and still move forward.”

One last time a finger traced one of the old welts near my shoulder blade. “We should let him rest.” Damrosch replied distantly. “He’s been through a lot.”


	17. Chapter Seventeen

_ **Chapter 17** _

_ **** _

In his elation his hands fought with the brick in the wall. It could scarcely be believed! Had he not heard the news himself, he would have counted the stroke of maddening luck completely incomprehensible. Even though he was merely a hired hand in this scheme, provided only with what little knowledge was necessary to play his part, there was a feeling in every correspondence that this particular elaborate plan had been brewing in the dark for an untold age. An ancient grudge lusting toward some tortured closure. He didn’t need to actually see the bosses to know that. Oh yes, he was a clever one! Early on he had assumed there was more than one hand behind the mysterious messages that arrived. The handwriting shifted, the phrases tended to differ. By now the evidence pointed to at least three individuals who had yet to reveal themselves in person.

This wasn’t unusual in his line of work. Those who had cause for hiring murderers also had an understandable desire for discretion. Otherwise they would have done it themselves. The operation appeared to have involved all the hallmarks of an extensive array of informants, disconnected from one another, which supplied the various details essential to hunt this unusual quarry. No one person could have gotten close enough to supply that much detail! These past months of preparation and the odd parcels that arrived to facilitate his new identity intrigued him. He had played some lengthy roles in the past, but never one this involved. Never one appearing so deeply convoluted that tapped into his acting background. It almost had him contemplating returning to the stage … almost. But that would mean stage blanks instead of real bullets.

Removing the chalk, he scribbled as neatly along the edges of the brick as he could.

_Target crippled. Holt trap. Business freeze._

Putting the brick back in place, he laughed in the darkness. It hadn’t been his hand that had filed the chain. It had been his whisper and his bribe to the properly desperate worker itching for his next fix. How delightful! No one could have calculated when and where the stone would fall. The primary goal had been to heighten the already paranoid state of the target. Somehow, by a remarkable stroke of luck, the falling stone had found the very man! It hadn’t killed him, but likely he would wish he had died!

What manner of fear resided in him now? After all, he was now a victim. Concerned inquiry over his condition had revealed that he would be bed-ridden for sometime.

Weeks, weeks without his vigilant eyes on his empire … knowing what had been carried out while he was watching. Think what damage could be achieved in his absence!

Shut down every work site, inspect every piece of equipment, interrogate every man … still it should prove impossible to unearth every seed that lie in wait. New ones could be planted with only a whisper.

Quite possibly this was the most exhilarating employment he had been taken part in. Jobs of this nature seldom came around, they were the subject of legends. He had been leaving the alleyway when another hooded figure stepped out of the shadows in front of him holding the brick in a hand. A glance over his shoulder revealed a gap in the wall where someone must have pulled it inside the seemingly abandoned building.

“How did you come by this … information?” The thin hooded figure affixed him with jade eyes, the English words mangled by a heavy accent.

“Well now! Pleasure to finally get a chance to meet my employers.” His hand secretly rested on the hilt of his loaded gun. Trust was something a dead man gave in this industry. “Word traveled quickly through the Hall today when the _esteemed_ concertmaster was absent. I must say it was about damned time too, that freak was cracking under the pressure anyway. Bit of bed-rest will do him good … or so I told that moronic conductor.”

The head cocked to the side curiously. “Length of time for his absence?”

“From what I understand, he will be laid up for at least a month. I trust that means a few more … uhh … shall we say, inconveniences to bleed his books dry?” He relished the spark of surprise that briefly lingered in the jade eyes. “The connections I have glimpsed are quite amusing. I like the various angles of attack you are taking. But, if I might be so bold as to offer a little experience from one who knows the business of assassinating … ”

“You were not hired to assassinate him.” He snapped harshly. “This creature has not suffered nearly enough loss to permit his release from torture at this time. Your task is to follow instructions. Do not overstep your bounds or you know what shall become of you.”

With a roll of his eyes, he replied, “I know, I know. You just want me to clean up the mess your other playthings left behind while antagonizing the man’s legendary ego. If I ain’t careful I will join them through some other scum’s hand. I get it, I get it”

“Playthings?” The voice hissed out from beneath the hood. “You believe this to be some manner of a childish game. You are severely mistaken!”

Raising his, eyebrows he whistled. “Well now, excuse me mister viper. By the way, that was a nice touch with the snake venom, shame it missed the mark … but I have to ask, obviously this man somehow wronged you, it’s not my business really, but I do enjoy knowing the motive sometimes. What did he do?”

Shaded by the black hood, the jade eyes narrowed into thin slits. “You are right. It is _not_ your business! Now, return to your apartment and await further instructions.”

He only turned for a moment, but that moment was long enough. The alleyway was empty with no sign of where the jade-eyed man had vanished to.

“Well now, this is going to start getting interesting.” Tugging the hood down, he entered the bustling street. “Just the way I like it.”


	18. Chapter Eighteen

_ **Chapter 18** _

_ **** _

Days of misery passed by as I lie in that bed, intermittently watching the shadows cross the walls and the stars winking in the night sky through the window. No position brought me respite. Nothing Nadir or Christine attempted rendered my existence any less pitiful. I had to be patient and let my ribs heal in a time where my mind was restless, grasping for some resolution to the unresolved threads. Like a plague, the inexplicable events of late kept eating away at my every waking moment. With the level of my physical discomfort, that state was near constant. Nothing seemed to connect, I was missing too much information for a sensible pattern to form and it drove me to a feverish distraction. A nagging similarity to that paralyzing nightmare of late, complicated the situation immensely, as my drowsy mind tangled with the memory.

Too many hours I had listened to their voices drifting from the study. They were trying to be polite, trying to let me rest. The result was quite the opposite. Isolated by my forced convalescence, their laughter and inarticulate chatter taunted me to the point I could no longer tolerate it!

How I managed it not even I fully recall, but the color momentarily drained from Christine’s face as she turned to find me wavering in the doorway of the bedchamber. Leaping up from the sofa she darted across the room.

My arm flew up as I declared, “Do not touch me!” It was far too soon for the muscles to be supporting me and breathing at the same time. The pain was sufficient to have unsettled the horizon. “I refuse to go back in there. Please … please … I refuse.” What started as a protest ended as a plea.

She reached out a hand to mine, a relieved smile on her face. “I only want to help you to the sofa, I promise. Come now, before you pass out.”

Her hand, my salvation. I grasped it as a wave of dizziness threatened to buckle my knees. Gently she came under my right arm, taking my unsteady weight on the arduous journey across the room. Levering me down on the cushions, she produced a handkerchief and mopped the sweat from my brow. Only then did I realize I had neglected to put on my mask.

“That’s the most active you’ve been in days.” Sitting down beside me, she took great care not to cause too much motion.

Amidst my panting to regain lost breath, I spied Nadir displaying a crooked grin. “What do you find so amusing?” I snapped.

Laying his head back, he chuckled. “It took longer than I had estimated for this to happen. I had figured you would have attempted this little stunt a day or two ago.”

I closed my eyes, bowing my head as I tried to find a position that didn’t cause each breath to burn. It was entirely in vain, just as my countless attempts lying in the bed had been. “How do you know I did not try?”

“Simple.” He pointed to the bedchamber door. “I didn’t find you collapsed on the floor.”

“You find this entertaining.” I hissed. “Next time I am going to let you get crushed, you imp—”

Christine cut me off. “Does your side feel any better?”

My hand cradled the binding just below the bruising I had yet to even see. “Not really. The pain is unabated if I sit or lie down. That being the case, I refuse to remain bound to the bedchamber.”

“Stubborn as always.” She rolled her eyes. “Just promise you will be careful and not overexert yourself.”

Nadir leaned forward, observing me. “There’s not much need to ask him that, Christine. By the looks of it, he doesn’t have much of a choice.”

Offering a glare to him, I let my hand fall into my lap. A hand which she promptly took up. “I mean it, Erik. That accident was serious.” Her eyes searched me as she clung to my hand, a sensation like a grip trying to pull me back from the edge.

The moment she bowed her head, I dared a questioning glance to Nadir. Had he told her? Hadn’t I made it clear she wasn’t to know there had been sabotage on the work site? His jade eyes locked with mine in a moment of understanding. He shook his head in answer. With relief, I laid my hand on her shoulder. Good, I didn’t need her worrying any more than she already was.

“Nadir is right.” I admitted reluctantly. “The injury is going to limit me for sometime yet. A situation which is regrettable, it is July and the building season is not indefinite.”

Christine sat up straighter, glancing away. “My dear, it’s a few days into August now.”

August? I blinked as I tried to remember which day the accident had occurred on. That’s right, July had nearly been over. It was the reason I had been so obsessed about lack of progress.

“Charles … ” She withdrew her hands. “Charles left for Harkness Academy earlier this morning.”

He had left? When? It took me a long moment to reply. “Had I been sleeping?”

Searching her eyes I glimpsed the moment of unease. “He … didn’t want to wake you.”

I had been awake since from before the sunrise, mercilessly teased by the sound of the world outside the window moving on without me. I shifted back on the sofa, almost regretting that motion. I couldn’t believe it. “Do not lie to me.”

Caught, her eyes widened as she withdrew, her jaw quivering as she stuttered a few words.

“No.” I snapped. “My son left for another year of school and never bothered to even say good-bye? You could have made him!”

Clasping her hands, she held them to her chest, shaking her head. “Erik, please. Understand that Charles is struggling right now.”

“ _He’s_ struggling?” I held my hands out. “He’s struggling? I find that remark a little—”

“Erik.” Nadir leaned forward. “Now is not the time.” About to protest, I found his hand raised to silence me. “Tell me you are not short tempered from your current state. That is making things worse and will only lead to a misunderstanding.”

Reluctantly I sighed, lapsing into a brooding silence that dominated the room for several minutes. At last Christine pensively rose. “I have to go, it is time for the Oratorio Society’s concert at the Hall, and I shouldn’t be late.” She leaned down and kissed my forehead. “I’ll see you when I get back, my love.”

I reached out to her, suddenly regretting the cold silence of the last few minutes as I watched her exit the study with her head bowed.

Lowering my gaze to my lap, I swallowed hard, feeling Nadir’s eyes upon me before I dared to break the silence. “Has there been any word?”

He sighed. “Surely you trust me enough to know I would have told you. No, there has been nothing. I have been checking the drop points for notes every day and without variation they have been vacant.”

Gritting my teeth, I lay back to stare at the ceiling, that position feeling no worse than any other. “Someone is going to great lengths to hide this if there are no whisperings in the dark. That troubles me. My informant’s reach extends everywhere.”

“A rather seedy lot.” He eyed me. “I have to say, Erik, I knew you must have some association with the underbelly of this city. But until I met with them face to face, I would not have pictured a more barbaric lot.”

“They would not hold a candle to the shah’s personal council.” I remarked dryly. “That was a despicable horde of rats if ever I saw one.”

Bolting upright Nadir glared at me. “The council was not comprised of cutthroats!”

“Oh really?” I smirked. “That indeed confirms my opinion that you never sat at their table.”

“You shouldn’t have meddled in their affairs in the first place. What absurd right gave you, a foreign infidel, permission to enter those chambers? Not even all the relatives of the royal family are granted the privilege of that invitation.”

With a chuckle, I slid my eyes to observe him flinch as I replied, “Do I note a hint of jealousy? Now Nadir, you were a minor relative of the shah, fairly far removed and granted some title of honor for a time until he felt your usefulness was spent. Blood is an inflated currency in your native county by the dictates of the very culture.”

Nadir stood and paced the length of the room before glaring down at me. “Where did your wise counsel to the shah ever get you?”

I lifted my chin. “I had grown weary of his puerile games.”

“He had grown tired of your insolence.”

I waved a hand. “He was a spoiled brat undeserving of reverence. I only exposed him to the reality that he was like everyone else.” Shifting my weight, I felt a stab which caused me to wince.

“A lesson _you_ could do with.” Nadir sat beside me, offering a concerned glance as I caught my breath again.

Throwing him a wry grin I replied. “Maybe tomorrow I will get around to learning that. After all, I have nothing better to do.” That was the detail that was eating away at my patience. I had so much to do and no ability to approach any of it. Balling my hand into a fist, I grumbled. “Idleness will be the death of me. I cannot keep squandering all this time away. I need something to occupy all these hours.”

“You’ll find something, Erik. You always do.” Laying his head back, he closed his eyes leaving me to my thoughts.

* * * * *

“Confound it! Where the hell did it go now?” I cursed, thumbing through the pages piled upon the desk. I reached as far as I could, feeling the pull of the bruised muscles warning me not to venture too far in the chair where I had been for an untold number of hours.

The page appeared before me, held out by Damrosch. “Is this it?”

“Yes.” I replied tersely. Snatching the critical part of my composition, I glanced at the series of notes before tossing it aside. Dipping the quill into the pot of ink, I dashed the sequence onto the page I was working on with a frantic pace. Fighting fatigue, I struggled to hold the one posture I had discovered afforded me the ability to sit upright for a time. Driven by the desire to complete a project, I was pushing myself beyond the brink and my temper was building under the strain. Attempts to drown out the pain through wine consumption was barely working. I probably should have been sticking to one kind rather than mixing whites and reds. However, a trip down to my wine cellar for a more proper selection was highly unappealing.

Damrosch had come to call in the midst of the process and without hesitation located the movements I needed to reference. The eager assistance aided me more than he knew as I was able to remain seated in persistent discomfort at the desk without the requirement to get up in search of the pages. Had I been doing so, I should have collapsed hours before. At least it would have been in a vest that was nearly buttoned. Earlier I noted, by that ability alone, the swelling had at least partially abated.

I felt Damrosch’s intrigued gaze lingering over my shoulder. “Here am I acting as Salieri to your Mozart.”

My hand paused, hovering above the page before I slowly lifted my glare up to him. “I am not certain I appreciate the reference.”

Coming around the side of the desk, he held out a placating hand. “I simply mean as a composer assisting another in creating a masterwork.”

Returning to placing the notes on the page, I replied curtly, “Salieri assisted in the final composition while Mozart lie in his bed dying of a fever. In case you have failed to notice, I am no longer confined to my bed nor am I dying. And I should sincerely hope that this is not my last work. So, once again, I do not appreciate the reference.”

He exhaled a long breath, taking a few steps from the desk. “I know you’re not dying.”

Smirking up to him, I did not bother to reply.

Picking up a page, he let his eyes drift over it before adding. “I was offering you a compliment.”

“Mmm hmm.” Dipping the quill into the ink, I set the next measures.

Switching tactics he held up the page with a touch of ceremony. “This piece is brilliant. I only mean it is an honor to assist you.”

“Good. You can find the flute part for movement twelve. It should be somewhere in that stack.” I made the mistake of twisting. Fatigued muscles blazed as my head dropped into the crook of my arm on the desk. It took everything not to cry out.

“Erik!”

Holding as still as I could, I had no choice but to let the spasm run its course. Through gritted teeth I gasped. “Just-moved-wrong!”

“You’re not looking so well.” He knelt down beside me. “Perhaps it is time for you to rest.”

“No.” The word was a strained growl. “I-am-fine.”

He shook his head. “This isn’t fine, Erik. You’ve been at this for hours and you can’t hide the fact that your side is figuratively killing you. Christine told me to make certain you didn’t overexert yourself.”

I brought my fist down on the desk, my mask still pressed against the crook of my other arm. “I should have known that is why you are here!” She had left on invitation to sing in a concert in Massachusetts and would not be back until the day after tomorrow.

Placing a hand on my shoulder, he heaved a sigh. “Yes. She told me what you had undertaken. In the same conversation, she also conveyed to me how your obsession likely would banish any thread of common sense to limit yourself. That you might work until you collapsed.” He gestured to my current posture. “Case in point. You should go to lie down for a while.”

I rolled my head against my arm, feeling the pain receding, but the dogged fatigue still lingered. “No … I only need a few more hours.” There was no way I could stop now, so close to finishing. Within my head the threads of music coursed, forming at long last into the climax. Desperately I grasped the quill, pulling myself up in the chair. This was coming out of me one way or another.

Damrosch slid his hand from my shoulder with a sigh. “Stubborn doesn’t even come close to describing you. Alright, but I want you to know one thing. When I made you promise to have the piece ready for the winter season, it was not with the intention you torture yourself to accomplish it.”

I closed my eyes, hearing the next parts melding, feeling the powerful surge as the entire piece pulsed as one. “This composition has been within me for too long. The rate of its birthing is quite beyond my control now.” If I tried to contain it now, the effort would drive me mad … uneasily I realized that was already a threat.

The ink appeared upon the vellum almost without thought. My hand took instruction subconsciously as line after line poured out from the depths. From the echoes inside my head, I was isolating the single part I required with pristine clarity, committing it to the pages for the world to one day hear it.

When I finished a bottle of wine, a moment later I would reach over to find another in its place. When my candle burned down, Damrosch wordlessly replaced it with a fresh one. In the flickering of that new candle, I found the angle I was working at steadily sinking lower and lower. The struggle to press on grew incrementally more trying, until at long last I opened my eyes to realize I was resting on my arm.

Had I fallen asleep? Tentatively I lifted my head.

“About ten minutes ago you told me you just needed to rest your eyes.” Damrosch murmured as he knelt beside me.

Slowly pushing up off the desk, everything felt heavy. The vest, which before had been buttoned, now hung open. I must have released the pressure earlier but I did not recall when. Blinking, I stared down at the pages. The last page I had worked on … the last page.

“It is finished.” I heard the sluggish note of disbelief in my voice even as I spoke. “The whole piece … is complete.”

“I’m sure it’s a masterpiece.” Not looking at it, he was focused on me with great concern. “Now you really have to get to bed. Erik, look at me. You can barely see straight.”

He was right, though I tried to keep him in my sight, my eyes were having a terrible time focusing. The ache in my side crippled me to the point where I was left in an awkward crumple in the chair, rasping in each weary breath. Not waiting for a reply, he set his shoulder under my arm and eased me to my feet. Without a word, his steady steps waited for my staggered ones until at last we reached the bed.

My eyes were already shutting as he pulled the covers over me. “Damrosch, all that needs to be done is to copy the parts for the symphony.” I muttered groggily. “I promise, I will do that over the next days … ”

“No.” His hand lingered on my shoulder. “I can handle that. Your only task now is to be fully healed by the winter season. For that to happen you need to get some rest. Good night, my friend.”

The words tried to leave me, _thank you_ , I had wanted to say … but they were muttered almost soundlessly to his back as he left me, taking the candle with him.

It was done … it was finished … my masterpiece.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

_ **Chapter 19** _

_ **** _

At a slight angle to the right, I sat rigidly in the high backed chair of my sitting room. I wished I had been elsewhere. My thoughts drifted to Carnegie Hall where I knew Damrosch had finished the arduous task of organizing the tangle of pages my creative process had made in the throes of the final movement. He had completed copying the parts of the individual sections. Distributed to the symphony, they would be starting rehearsals tomorrow. Yet here I sat, my side plaguing me after a short time of attempting to conduct the most menial of business. As much as I loathed meetings, it was essential I showed an effort to connect with the clients who were requesting it.

Leaning on my elbow, as my eyes half lidded to the Englishman droning beside me, I found I was not achieving that goal at all.

Lord Thomas Ballard was a stuffy man of middle age with the most unruly set of mutton chops I had ever seen. His over tailored suit appeared to be holding him in his rigid posture. If one was speaking of manners, he had all the insufferable stiffness that the highest bred noblemen were supposed to posses. As he spoke, the tone came through his nose, lending him a wheezy tone reminiscent of a leaky bagpipe. This man had seemed so typical to the clients who commissioned me that I assumed his project would be straight forward. However, once the contract had been signed, the ever changing list of requests became a constant torrent of alterations and drafts. I disliked this man very much. He was the last person I wanted to see on the first morning of meetings.

“I repeat, Mister Erik.”

“Monsieur.” I corrected him, the improper title was like a cuff to my ear.

He nodded his head before lifting his chin once more in a pose of superiority. “I do offer condolences over your current situation. It is refreshing to see a gentleman willing to honor his contracts.”

“Of course, Lord Ballard.” I stopped just short of calling him Mister out of spite. Keeping my tone level, I replied. “It is my intention to complete your mansion as soon as possible.”

“By November.”

Lifting my head I let my hand fall to the arm of the chair. “Pardon me?”

He lifted an eyebrow. “By November, of course. According to our original contract.” Smiling wistfully he added. “Lady Ballard has a fantastic holiday party planned and we shall need time for the servants to ready the ballroom.”

Unblinking, I took a long moment to contemplate his words. This man had requested a mansion of reasonable complexity and then continuously altered the floor plan sporadically from that point onwards. Had he left the original draft as final, by leaning on the crew we may have been able to come close to the November deadline. However, by now we had fallen so dreadfully behind that even were I not injured, there was no way it would be completed until summer of next year.

“That is completely out of the question.” I replied slowly.

Ballard lifted his nose a little higher. “Am I to understand then that you are not honoring your contract?”

“Circumstances beyond my control have made an adjustment to the completion date a necessity.” My fingers gripped the arm of the chair as I felt the tension build in the muscles of my ribs. A normal reaction to an upsetting situation, at this moment it could result in a rather unflattering display of pain if I wasn’t careful. I had to rein in my temper. “This is the same for more than just your contract. I do apologize for the inconvenience.” Of course I will be kind enough not to mention how much you have inconvenienced me.

Exhaling slowly through his nose, he shook his head. “What an incredible shame. And here I had been told you were the foremost architect in the city, a worker of miracles. Surely if anyone can complete my home within the allotted time, it was you.”

I muttered beneath my breath, “If you had let me finish it in the first place … ”

“Excuse me?” He tilted his head, not having caught my words.

“It shall be an exquisite place.”

“Of course.” Bringing his hands to the arms of the chair he stood. “By my design no place in all Manhattan shall be like it.”

That much was true, I pondered as I studied my nails idly. There honestly wasn’t a polite reply I could think of, resulting in my obligatory silence.

“Do not trouble yourself. I can see myself out. November, Mister Erik.”

Eyeing the now empty doorway, I snarled just over my breath, “The proper address is Monsieur, you prick!”

From my discussion with Grimaudo about the long list of essential equipment that needed to be replaced … along with a few questionable crew men, to the obnoxious insistence of Ballard’s deadline, I had found my limit exceeded for the day. Beneath my vest, I felt the swelling rubbing despite the linen binding I still wore beneath the shirt. The weight of my coat was enough to make it all unbearable.

“Nadir.” I called out, knowing he was within ear shot. “No more for today. I have had my fill of this fracas.”

He lingered in the doorway, a pensive gaze over his shoulder. “There is one more you must take.”

Holding my side I lowered my head. “No, Nadir. I truly mean it. I cannot … ” When I looked back up Cormac Byrne stood hunched beside him, his eyes wide and haunted, a wooden box clutched in his hands. That changed everything.

Byrne swallowed. “I came in the back way, Sir, knowin’ you wouldn’t want me seen. But … I had no choice to come. There was no waiting for this.”

I simply raised a hand and waved him in, gesturing for him to sit down in the seat recently left vacant by Ballard. Displaying a great deal of unease, he sat on the edge of the chair. Byrne was more or less a street thug. His tweed suit had rarely been without some grime. However, I had never known him to go about with it in disrepair. The seam of his shoulder was freshly torn. In the time since I had employed his services, I had seen him face daunting odds in a bar fight without so much as a flinch. Yet now, the man before me was spooked, startled by the sound of Nadir shutting the door behind him. The three of us, now shut off from the rest of the household, all fixed our eyes upon the box.

“Sir.” Cormac held the box in his lap with both hands. “I swear to you, not a whisper have we heard. Nothing. Shuan Jin and me have found not a word about the fire, Antonino searched every corner — no ones claimin’ to have your gear. When we heard about that stone, well, you know we did our damnedest to pound the darkest corner for some word of what were behind it. These rats is nestin’ deep! They know how to hide as no one is talkin’.”

Pointing at the torn seam, I remarked, “However, something has occurred.”

“Aye.” He nodded stiffly. “That it has. Last night, near the wee hours, I was round in the Hell’s Kitchen area mindin’ me own when this strange shadow knocked me into the wall. Held me arm up tight so I could hardly move.”

“What did he look like, this man?”

“I dunno, Sir.” Fingers gripped the edges of the box. “Like you tend to do he, used a cloak to hide himself in the shadows. At first I thought it was you, then I remembered you was still laid up from the injury. Never got a good look at him though. Once he released me, he was gone in a tick, without a trace. But I remember his voice. It was strange, unlike anythin’ I heard before. A strange mix I can’t place.”

Drumming my fingers on the armrest, he had my full attention. Byrne was streetwise enough to have heard the most common dialects. It would take something very rare to be lost upon him. “Proceed.”

Shifting in the chair, his fingers slowly traced carved grooves within the lid of the wooden box. “He told me to give you this. Said you would understand.” Clumsily he held the box out to me.

In my hands, it seemed ordinary. Large enough that, laid across my palms, it filled both of them. Deep enough to span the combined width of all four fingers. There was a simple metal latch on the front. Upon the lid, a rough carving comprised of curved lines attempted to form an elegant design and utterly failed. It was as though someone had tried their hand at carving for the first time while they were blind drunk. Examining the latch, I cast the Irishman a searching glance. “Did you open it?”

“No sir, absolutely not, as he said I was to deliver it to you, by name.”

That only made my suspicions increase. “Nadir. The blade please.”

Still lingering beside the door, he froze. “Erik. I thought you … ”

“He can know where it is concealed. Just get it.” I held my hand out muttering, “I am not about to carelessly lift the lid of some strange box … unlike some people I know.”

He scowled at me, his pride as injured as his ankle had been the day the scorpion stung him for his folly. However, reaching behind my chair, he pulled out the short blade that under normal circumstances was within my easy reach. Just a little insurance in case a deal ever turned especially sour. The hilt in my hand, I gently eased the latch back, holding my breath in anticipation of some possible surprise. Once the blade tip cracked open the lid, I exhaled. One never knew.

Byrne wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. “Been quiet of late, save for this. Haven’t even heard a word of Antonino these past days.”

Employing the blade, just in case, I fully opened the shallow lid to the gleam of a large ruby ring. “This may be why you have not heard from him.”

The ring would have been visible to Cormac, and indeed his eyes caught it. “No! Do you suppose they have him?”

Slowly I turned the mirror lined box to show him the object that cushioned the piece of jewelry. “I would say it is more they have what is left of him.” Reflected an infinite number of times within the mirrored box was a human heart.

Cormac’s revulsion propelled him from the chair and back against the window, where he stammered unintelligibly. Behind me I heard the sound of someone retching. Nadir always had a bit of a weak stomach.

Shutting the box, I set it on the table. That was a nasty little shock. This pest of mine was clearly prepared to get serious. This had now progressed well beyond pranks. Antonino Gallo had been a longstanding member of my inner-most circle of informants. Informants whose trust took an inordinate amount of time to forge. Informants who could not simply be replaced.

“Byrne.” His head snapped up, face still white with shock. “This is very important. I want you and the others to go to ground. All of you. Spread the word to any who have been of use to me by either task or tid bit.”

“But Sir … ”

I cut him off. “No arguments. You must do this with all due haste. Whomever is behind this is clearly prepared to go to tragic lengths to achieve a goal.”

“Without us listenin’, it will leave you blind.” He stood before me with his hands wide. “What will you do?”

Stiffly, so as not to jar my ribs, I rose from the chair. My hand gripping the hilt of the blade, I reached back for the sheath. “I mean to flush him out.”

Nadir laid a hand on my wrist. “What do you expect to be able to do with that? Erik, you are in no condition to fight someone who can render this man defenseless! One good turn of your chest and you’ll be reduced to fighting for air.”

In a deft motion, the weapon was out of sight, secured in a hidden pocket. “They have seen weakness, my friend. If I remain holed up, they may go about their plan as they well please. There needs to be a reminder that I am not someone to be trifled with. To do so, I need to invite this meddlesome creature to reveal himself.”

“It’s only been three weeks since the accident.” Nadir reminded me. “Your side is still the color of a prized sapphire!”

I raised my eyebrows. “Thank you for the colorful analogy. Now.” I opened the lid long enough to slide the ring out. “Byrne. See to it that Signora Gallo gets this with my sincere condolences. Then you are to disappear for the time being. Have I made myself clear?”

Pocketing the ring, he nodded. “Sure hope you know what you are doin’. Sir. Meant what I said earlier, sure has been a pleasure knowin’ you.” He backed out of the room at my dismissal.

“Erik, this is madness!”

Gripping Nadir’s shoulder tightly, I glared at him, fueled by the pain that pulsed through my side just by the effort of standing. “I assure you, I am angry. I am very angry, Nadir! When I discover who is behind this game he will be fortunate if I let him die within the passing of a single night.”

“You made me a promise not to torture another soul! I hold you to it now, Erik.” His eyes met mine, wide with fear. “Stop and think about this! How would you even apprehend him? Your strength is severely compromised. At the moment, you are practically crippled.”

“A state that our clever friend was perhaps hoping for.” Snatching the gift from the table I turned for the door. “So, imagine his surprise when I am out in public in apparent perfect health. Let us see what creeps out of the shadows then.”

* * * * *

The stars gazed down upon me from their lofty height in the uniform darkness. It was wondrous to behold, the majestic shimmer of countless eyes suspended in an unfathomable sea. Who was I to be standing on my rooftop stealing in their illumination? Since this morning’s conversation with Cormac, I had been brooding over the events that had transpired. Driven up to the rooftop garden, I had been wandering the rows of fragrant flowers as much as my injury would allow, forced to stop and sit down at long intervals. Grimly, Nadir’s words plagued me. If a leisurely stroll through the safe confines of my garden resulted in aggravation … what chance did I truly have?

Looking back up at the stars I sighed, what _choice_ did I have? My guard against the world had always been a display of unyielding strength. For some reason this unseen opponent needed me out of the way, a manipulation for some greater plan. I knew this only because it was how I would do it. Like some real life chess strategy. If I had been determined to utterly destroy a man, and by the looks of things that was the goal, I would systematically strip him of his resources. The chain of events was now faintly visible. Various pieces of equipment and supplies failing to arrive to my businesses. Thefts of shipments of my goods on their way to clients. There had been the fire at the Phoenix Pavilion, which was going to cost me a fortune to rebuild. The list of equipment that had mysteriously become worn to the point of eminent failure, was of no minor consequence. Whether or not I had been the intended victim of the chain’s failure … well, no one could have had that much precision timing to have secured that. Fatigued metal was by nature unpredictable, and the file marks had shown slight weathering. That blow had likely been sheer luck. Now, with the delivery of the ‘gift’ it was evident I was not only the target—there was knowledge that I was still alive.

Whoever was behind this, had skillfully penetrated deep, close enough to have overheard my secrets … to begin a masterful intrusion of my complicated network. True, in recent years I had a grown a little complacent in covering my activities. Trips to some of my hidden connections conducted with a less than clandestine manner. Even then, it still would have taken dedication to obtain as much knowledge as appeared to have been gained. The opium den arson was proof of that.

It wasn’t surprising that I should have found ill-favor among someone. I was no stranger to the influence of blackmail. And, like the majority of successful businessmen, I employed it when necessary. No small amount of suspicious deaths in this city were the result of just such a threat—removing the blackmailer from the equation. Was that what was behind this? Did I hold some thread of knowledge deemed so threatening as to warrant being stripped of my empire?

It seemed too extreme for that to be the case. Far too extreme. Careless blackmailers were typically dealt with swiftly and discretely. Why give me the chance to deduce who was behind this, I might unleash whatever curse they were trying to keep concealed out of revenge.

Leaning against the balustrade, my hand brushed against a weight in my pocket. Pulling out the object I once more laid my eyes upon the uroboros necklace, the coils still covered with soot. This strange relique. What an enigma. I knew I had seen its like before, but still my thoughts struggled to tell me when. Taking out a soft cloth, I began to polish the tarnished silver. Rubbing furiously, I watched as the serpent shed the skin of staining to emerge with a gleaming new set of scales.

Holding it up to the moonlight, I watched the light rippling over the twisted body. The weight of the silver in my hands so familiar. When I closed my eyes, it seemed I could hear the laughter, the distant music of another time. Laughter, not the sound tied to mirth and joy, but an odd laugh of mockery.

My eyes flashed open! It had sounded so close to me. I stiffened, searching the darkness for any movement. A shadow glided within the moonlight … the sound of footsteps as they drew near. Dropping the necklace back into my pocket, I reached for the hilt of the knife, loosening the blade in its sheath. My target was just around the corner, concealed by a row of prolific rose bushes.

Tense and ready, I hoped that I had not been seen yet and thus, held the benefit of surprise. It wasn’t Nadir, I distinctly spied a cloak through the leaves and he never wore one this time of year, only in winter. Holding my breath, I started to slide the blade free.

Laughter filled the air, lyrical and beautiful. “Erik, my love? Where are you?”

Christine. I released my breath and let the blade slide back home, safe and concealed. Behind her, I laid a hand on her shoulder to watch her elegantly turn and smile up at me. Sliding back the hood of her opera cloak, she was an angel glowing in the moonlight.

“Sorry I am late.” She leaned into my hand as I brushed it across her cheek. “The concert ran late this evening, but it was so wonderful. Damrosch was right, Maestro Beaufont was a simply marvelous host. During the intermission, he could speak of nothing else save for my solo. It was almost embarrassing. Afterward he would hardly let me leave despite the number of times I informed him how many hours it should take for the carriage to bring me home. Beaufont insisted on the honor that you come as a guest musician for their music festival in the spring. He wants me to sing again as well. Oh Erik, the endless string of invitations to sing after being denied the chance for so long.” Dancing on her feet, she spun away with a graceful twirl.

I watched her celebration, watched the shimmer of the moonlight on the crystals sewn into her pale dress. She was the embodiment of pure joy.

“What are you doing up here?” She strolled to the balustrade and leaned there, gazing up at the stars.

Joining her, I took as deep a breath as the binding would allow. “I felt a need for some fresh air.” Drifting closer I gradually lifted my arm up to rest upon her shoulder. My angel, my joy, my greatest treasure in all the world … what if this was my last chance to stand beneath the starlight in her company?

Reaching around, she tugged at the lapel of my jacket. “The air is doing you some good. You look as though you are feeling better.”

I shrugged my right shoulder. “Some small goals have been obtained today showing there is marked improvement. The sun has set and my vest has still remained buttoned, that is a first.”

Clapping her hands, she turned to face me with an amused grin. “ _Bravissmo_. I have such a brave husband to face such an obstacle.”

My fingers dropped to brush against the buttons on the back of her gown. Beneath it I knew there to be a boned corset.

“What is it?” She cocked her head, studying me. “Erik, is something bothering you?”

Looking up, I realized I must have lapsed into silence for too long. With a quiet chuckle, I replied, “Only pondering something that never occurred to me before. You would think it quite ridiculous.”

Placing a hand upon mine, she shook her head. “No I wouldn’t.”

With a shift of my gaze to her waistline, I contemplated the sensation of my next few breaths against the linen binding around my ribs. “Why do women insist upon the confinement of a corset? How can that even be comfortable to have your breathing restricted … in the name of fashion?”

Unable to suppress it, she laughed. Long and full, throwing her head back in the throes of mirth. Her hand pressed against my right side. “Is this the first time you’ve worn a corset?”

I rolled my eyes, drawing away slightly. It was so good to hear her laugh, even at my expense. “Christine, I realize this is not the same thing, however … ”

“It is as close as a man shall get to the experience.” She wiped a tear from her eyes. “A girl gets used to it, as well as some of the remarks that one’s corset is not laced tightly enough. I have no desire to be rendered breathless.”

“I can tell you from experience it is not pleasant nor rewarding.” I flashed her a little grin, just wanting to be lost here with her for a while. “Besides, if you were laced too tightly, no one would hear your spellbinding voice. That would be a tragedy.”

“I will never do such a foolish thing.” She placed her hands lightly upon her hips. “Let the other women say as they will, and they have, that my waist is bulky. They cannot speak with half the volume.”

Laughter welled up inside me, and I struggled to suppress it. Not enough to keep from needing to hold my side as each amused spasm hurt. “Oh Christine, how did I end up with such a spirited wife?”

“By being a spirit in the first place.” She kissed me, pulling my head down and into her careful embrace. “You were my spirit, my angel. Without you I should have ended up like the rest of the lot, a simpering chorus girl unworthy of even a glance.”

My hands rested on her shoulders. “Is it any wonder that two souls the world refused to see should gravitate toward one another? You being a shy orphaned girl and I being a hopeless recluse.” She darted a glance up at me to which I offered a crooked grin. “Let us drop the fantasy and tell it as it was, my dear.” It was not cold out in the evening air, but a shiver stole through me as she turned to face the balustrade. “Through their searching gazes the two discovered a worth beyond the superficial.”

Leaning against me, careful not to brush my bruised side, she gazed out over the city lights mirroring the heavens. Dreamily her voice drifted in the stillness. “I never could have faced the cruel glare of the stage lights until you taught me how to recognize the strength within myself. Now, to sing is a reward on itself. All the rest is but the noise of a world that is afraid to truly look at itself. Each remark, a reflection upon the bearer’s soul.”

Tucking my arm around her, I felt the beat of her heart. The pulse of life, so warm and reassuring. I would give anything to stay like this forever … our hearts beating as one. I could endure anywhere so long as I could hold her in my arms. Selfishly, I wondered if it felt the same for her … if by some cruel trick of fate I should be struck down tomorrow, would grief take her to an early grave?

Closing my eyes, I felt a tear escape. I would not dwell upon this. Fate had not yet cast its lot. I would not spend these moments pining. Holding her close, I kissed her hair. “There is nothing in this world I love more than you. I would endure anything to remain in your heart.”

Her hand grasped mine. “You are my heart.”

As the night wind stirred her cloak, wrapping around both of us, we gazed up at the moon, sharing a blissful silence. In my life I had dared so many times to tempt fate … my greatest treasure was now secure in my arms because of it. Tonight I had to cherish my time in this transient life.


	20. Chapter Twenty

_ **Chapter 20** _

_ **** _

Tearing the blindfold from his eyes, he looked around the room. He had been lead into some crevice of that old abandoned building after the thug blindfolded them in the alley. But the passage had been lengthy, winding, and involving a number of locked doors. He knew by the color of the bricks, this was not the same building he had entered. The space was tight, crammed with rolls and stacks of papers. Lit by kerosene lanterns, the corners remained untouched by the weak rays of light. A few cushions lined the floor. Seated upon them were three figures draped in black hooded cloaks. They drew their hoods back and at last he recognized their accent by the telltale olive skin. These men were Persians. At the center, the tallest one bore the jade eyes he had recognized, mister viper, who held up a hand to silence the regally dressed Englishman he had speaking with.

The thug pushed him forward roughly. “Master Vahid, your guest.”

Vahid waved a hand and offered a thin lipped smile framed by a whip-like mustache. “Enter Reiniger, or so we have called you.”

Stepping forward easily, he laughed. “That name has rather grown on me. I may keep it for a while, even after all this is over.”

“That is no concern of ours.” The Persian rose from his cushion in a single flourish of the black hooded cloak which opened to reveal a colorful set of beaded silken robes. Tucked into a wide scarf around his waist was a thick bladed knife with a heavy brass pommel ornately carved with open beaked birds of prey ready to strike.

Clearing his throat, Reiniger cast his gaze over the other two silent Persians still seated upon their cushions. The one on the right was a little weasel of a thing with a deep scar running down the side of his face. To Vahid’s left, reclined a man of stronger build, his eyes dark and brooding as he wrote with a quill on a large piece of paper. It was obvious that the men were not likely to introduce themselves. He turned his gaze to the dapper Englishman who offered him a brief nod before Vahid interrupted with his thick accent. “Mister Ballard. Please continue with your report concerning the other day.”

The stiff Englishman did not smile as he turned his half-hooded gaze back to the Persians. “As I had already mentioned, I was admitted to Erik’s sitting room, where the man was waiting for our appointment. He did not rise from his chair as he had in previous visits. Most inappropriate of the fellow! If I were a true gentleman, I should have been greatly insulted.”

The weasel of a man looked up, inquiring, “Do you think he could have gotten up if he wanted to?”

“Silence, Bijan!” the Persian to his left remarked. “Let him speak so that I might record all this.”

Wrinkling his scarred nose, Bijan spat back, “Cannot recall anything past a moment, can you, Maitham! Pathetic!”

A single sweep of Vahid’s hand silenced the bickering. “Continue,” he ordered.

Ballard offered a snuffed breath. “Well, honestly I do not believe that the man was comfortable at all. There was no sign of his normal grace and his temper was broiling below the surface. He sat slightly askew in the high-backed chair and winced when he shifted.”

Maitham spoke up as the quill continued across the paper. “So, he is still crippled then.”

“I should say so. He insisted that the deadline could not possibly be met.”

“And did you insist?” Vahid interjected.

“But of course. Per your instructions I have been requesting alterations with excessively precise details throughout the entire project. By now, he must have over a hundred individual drafts for my project alone. He was greatly upset with me, but civility demanded that he suppress it. This is the closest I have seen him come to losing his temper. Like a millstone, this project has worn him down.”

Slowly Vahid stepped about the room, pacing behind the seated Englishman and finally around the waiting Reiniger. Bringing his fingers together, he chuckled. “Good. Good. Bijan, tell me, how long did that Italian last before you broke him?”

“Days.” He replied. “His tongue provided little information, as it appears that he was merely a well paid informant, not privy to his master’s secrets. He proved loyal, taking much to the grave.”

Sliding his eyes over to Bijan, Vahid wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his blade. The voice was icy and slow, “Did you dispose of him properly?”

“A message has been sent to his master.” He gave a toothy grin. “I even gift wrapped it for him. The Irish rat was tasked to deliver it.”

Vahid nodded, his eyes coming to rest upon Reiniger. “We have burned, stolen, and sabotaged much of the remainder of his businesses. By now, his financial books must be bleeding profusely. Relationships with clients and associates have been compromised. What of the Hall, what of his _other_ domain?”

“The Symphony is learning his composition at the moment.” He shrugged. “It’s complicated, the director is working small bits waiting for Erik to return. I have suggested a few times that I can cover the first chair for the interim. Damrosch is slowly relenting to the suggestion, convinced that they need to hear the lead strings. It will drive a blade through Erik’s heart to return and find me in his chair.”

Vahid inclined his head. “Are you certain?”

“Oh, he loathes me.” Reiniger laughed easily, leaning against the wall as he fingered his gun. “You can see the heat in his eyes whenever he looks at me. Damrosch thinks it’s jealousy. There is no doubt that the rank of concertmaster is one of Erik’s greatest possessions. Taking that from him will leave him in a mindless fury. If anything could destroy the relationship between him and that naïve conductor, that would be where to aim. Get Damrosch to betray Erik and the man will be nothing but a shell.”

“Excellent.” Folding himself down upon the middle cushion, Vahid prepared a pipe of hashish and began to draw in the smoke. A low laugh filled the chamber. “Gentleman, it is time to discuss how this will finally end. Throughout this enterprise, the key elements are both of you. Ballard, in your pressured contract that threatens his sense of esthetics. As you have done a marvelous job of concocting the most absurd of requests. I applaud your creativity. The amount of time you have managed to trick him into wasting is astonishing. The cost of both time and materials will no doubt have impacted the man’s ability to cope with change. Reiniger, your ingenious penetration into the Symphony Society not only removed a close acquaintance of our target by tragic circumstances, but provides you with the perfect opportunity to manipulate the conductor into betraying him. You will do everything possible to procure the first chair for the interim. We need this creature to suffer by having his wings clipped in an act of public humiliation. Make certain that there are plenty of witnesses to see him gnash his teeth. This will leave him vulnerable and in a highly dangerous state.” Inhaling the drug, he held it in for a long moment before allowing the smoke to drift out with a satisfied smile. “Then gentleman, we shall wait.”

“Excuse me?” Reiniger cocked his head. “Wait for what?”

Vahid offered a sinister smile up at the German. “We shall need you to watch him closely for his reaction … to nothing.”

Both Reiniger and Ballard gazed in confusion. “To nothing? You are not making sense.”

Bijan was the one who answered. “Nothing is so tormenting as waiting for an event one dreads is coming … the over due.”

Setting aside the paper and quill, Maitham leaned back and took a puff of hashish from Vahid’s pipe. Holding his breath for a moment, he also savored the smoke. “Such a delicious plan. How long shall we let our prey fret and worry, living in fear and horror of the unknown?”

“He is already paranoid. Surely in his own mind he will be convinced that every shadow is a threat. That mental torture will cause him to inflict his old nature upon his own world, his friends, his … family.” Vahid took the pipe back into his hands. He mused for a long moment, the smoke wreathing about him. “For the next phase, we must rely upon the weather.”

“You would trust to something as fickle as that?” Reiniger snorted with laughter. “Best not to bank on a rainy day!”

Vahid opened his pinpointed eyes slowly, his voice a thin hiss as he handed the pipe to Bijan. “We are not waiting on rain … the bite of ice and snow shall signal his death knell. That is when we will unleash the greatest suffering that beast will ever come to know. Slowly, painfully, we will tear from his bleeding grasp the last things he holds precious in this world. He will writhe with the knowledge that he was too late before the blade pierces what semblance of a heart he may possess. For this, we will need the fury of Mother Nature … we have waited four decades, my brothers of mutual suffering.” Vahid held out his hands to Maitham and Bijan. “A few more months to let the beast gnash his teeth will mean nothing once our revenge is complete.”

“So, I wait for the signal?” Reiniger felt the sting of the hashish drifting through the room as he inhaled. The powerful smoke nearly reduced him to a mad giggling fit.

“You will know when it is time. Instructions will be delivered.” Vahid lay back on the cushion, laughing softly. “Then, by the wrath of Allah, we shall see the Angel of Doom punished for his sins.”


	21. Chapter Twenty-one

_ **Chapter 21** _

_ **** _

Carnegie Hall’s main auditorium bustled with activity as it always tended to on the first days of rehearsal for a new set. On the music stands, Damrosch’s copied editions of my work had been fastidiously laid out, awaiting the musicians. I had taken note that he had not stayed true to the red ink, employing black instead. The man had no flare.

Without a word, I had taken my chair, removing the Stradivarius from its case for the pre-rehearsal tuning. Already, beneath the linen binding, I felt my chest muscle’s warning burn. Today I did not have time for the ceaseless complaints. I had left my house with a will to demonstrate, for whomever may be watching me, that I was hardly troubled. That was my intention and that was what I was going to do! Turning the pegs on the strings, I plucked each one until I was satisfied, completing the task just as Damrosch came dashing onto the stage with his baton in hand.

“Alright, alright. Rehearsal is about to start. Everyone take your places please.” Stepping up on the podium, with his eyes fixed on the stand, he flipped open the master score. “Things will be a little different today, I’m not sure how many of you have heard but Erik—good Lord!” He had gestured to what I assume he expected to be my empty chair. “What are you doing here?”

Every eye turned to stage left, immediately to the side of Damrosch’s podium, where he stood staring a little rudely down upon me.

“You are rehearsing my work, are you not?” I replied smoothly. “I am here to do what everyone else is, to rehearse.”

He leaned down, trying to keep his voice hushed but failing to do so in his shock. “It’s only been three weeks since the accident. Shouldn’t you still be … well … resting?”

“Thank you for the reminder, Damrosch.” There was no banishing the ice from my reply. “Shall we just go through all the details of what can happen to a master mason in a stroke of ill luck? Or, in your shock, do you find yourself unfit to direct?” I flicked my bow in the air. “I am a grown man capable of determining my own health.”

“I … well … of course.” Recovering himself a bit, he straightened up. “It is good to see you well again, my friend.” Offering me one last confused glance, he tapped his baton on the stand needlessly. The hall was already silent, most eyes still fixed on me. How many knew? Word traveled swiftly in the musician’s circle. In the weeks that had passed, it was unlikely that more than a handful had been unaware of my misfortune. “Erik has written the Symphony Society a composition entitled _The Aviary_. There are a few places where the number of parts will exceed the divisions within the orchestra. As we reach those, I will select the appropriate musicians. Solo parts showcase each and every instrument throughout the composition. Let us just start at the beginning to get a feel for it.”

He cast me one more hidden glance as I brought the violin up into place, stiffer then normal. I did everything I could to conceal the change.

“Movement one, ladies and gentlemen, _The Dawn Song Summons_.” Raising his baton, he counted out the adagio beat before bringing in the strings. Light swift strokes of our bows brought forth the magical quality, the leisurely flight of countless birds, as the brass section came in underscoring the flying strings with a majestic air. Closing my eyes, I could see the multitude of species winging and soaring through a clear blue sky. Breaking off from the main melody, the first violins, including myself, elongated our notes, rising into the bold wing strokes of the larger birds of the air. I welcomed the transition that came just in time as I felt the irritation of the previous measures building. My part’s legato measures I pushed through, knowing that a break was coming.

It could not have come soon enough! The brass took entirely over as the first violins dropped out. Lowering my arm, I took a few deep breaths against the burning in my side. I hadn’t realized it, but while playing I wasn’t quite able to get enough air. A wave of dizziness swept over me, passing just in time for us to rejoin.

This staggered battle for breathing continued at regular intervals and I found myself wanting to reference my part on the page, but there was no music on my stand as per my usual habit. I wrote this music! My heart knew the notes and the timing … Damrosch didn’t have it quite right, I had to address that with him later … but through the building agony, I fought each measure against the wearing fatigue. We were approaching the final crescendo, when a staggered stroke resulted in a slight unintentional twist of my torso. Wrenched back in pain, I felt the violin and bow slide from my hands to the floor as I tried in vain to quell the spasm.

The music stopped. When I opened my eyes, gasping for air, I saw Damrosch lingering over me as I lie back in the chair. His hand hovered there, hesitant to touch. “Erik! Are you alright?”

Not daring to try to utter a word through my clenched teeth, I nodded.

“Seriously, you shouldn’t be playing yet.” He laid a hand upon my right shoulder.

“I just need a minute.” I panted. “I will be fine.”

In silence he waited. A few long minutes passed as I cursed my burning side for the betrayal! I had wanted to make a fine show that I was unhindered by the injury. Instead, I had blatantly demonstrated that a simple over-extension was enough to render me speechless. The exact opposite of my goal. Whoever was behind this may have bore witness to my folly.

“Erik.” Looking up into Damrosch’s features, I saw his unspoken apology. “Please go home. I cannot by conscience allow you to play in this much pain.”

It only now registered in my mind that I was grasping my side. “I told you — I will be alright in a minute.”

“That was five minutes ago, and you are still in obvious agony.”

How I wished he would just stop drawing attention to it! “Damrosch, there are critical parts coming. The solo lines for the first chair, I _must_ be here to play them.”

Glancing over my shoulder, he seemed to wait for a response. After a brief nod he rubbed my shoulder. “For the last time, go home and rest your side, Erik. We can rehearse your work for a time without you. For the meantime, Reiniger can play the solos.”

Reiniger? **Reiniger** would play my part? How could he even suggest it!

“What?” I growled out. “You would have him replace me? How dare you!”

Damrosch fell back as my anger propelled me to my feet. I could hear him trying to assemble a sentence as I turned on my heel, glaring a suddenly chastened Reiniger back down into his chair. “You should stay where you belong!”

The urge within me was there. As I glowered down into the startled face of the German, I felt the anger rising! How I longed to pull my fist back and bury it in his face! But, even the flinch of my shoulder overrode the pulse of adrenaline letting me feel the burn in my side. If he should reciprocate the blow, I may not have the ability to get back up. I had one chance to retain even a shred of dignity.

Storming past the entire section, I wanted so much to slam the stage door with a thunderous boom behind me. My pathetic attempt barely shifted the door on the hinges. Damrosch’s frantic calling of my name penetrated through the outer hall.

He wanted me to go home. Fine!

* * * * *

Pacing only made things worse as I fumed alone in my study. A couple of hours ago, Christine had lingered briefly in the room before abandoning any attempt to quell my foul temper. Intermittently, I forced myself to pause in the restless activity. Sitting on the arm of the couch, I stared into the fireplace, letting my fingers walk the magician’s orbs into an array of patterns. In all this time the burning urge to beat Reiniger to death with his own violin had barely dwindled. I swear that had I laid eyes upon him in that moment nothing, not even my bruised ribs, could have held me back.

Distantly, I heard the front door open and the sound of voices. Pushing up from my perch on the couch, I ghosted out into the hallway, concealed from the foyer stairway by the stone wall. Their voices carried up to me.

“He left in such a fury, he abandoned his Stradivarius. I didn’t want to risk locking it inside his office, so I rushed over here after the rehearsal ended.” Damrosch’s voice was edged with concern. “Is he alright? I’ve never seen him that angry.”

Christine replied with a sigh, “Thank you, I’ll make sure he knows it is safe. He’s still upstairs, just as upset as when he first came home. Muttering something about being replaced.”

“Ahh. Well. There’s been a substantial misunderstanding, Christine. You see, when Erik was forced to stop playing because of the pain, I asked him to go home and rest. I didn’t want him to worry about the rehearsals and so I mentioned that Reiniger could cover for him.”

“Oh dear.” She moaned. “You didn’t … oh no.”

“You mean Erik is still upset with him?”

“He never really stopped. On top of the pain forcing him into inactivity, I fear you just re-sparked the rivalry.”

_Listen to them, plotting. You are being replaced._

I close my right hand tightly around the glass orb. With that sensation, a fresh wave of adrenaline coursed through me, banishing the burning at my side. Sweet relief!

_How can they just carry on, chatting away like you do not even matter. Inconsequential. Unimportant. I mean, you only wrote the damn piece! Why have you any right to play it?_

Christine’s weary voice echoed in the stair well. “I don’t know how to explain it. But it is something well beyond his means. Erik simply does not handle idleness with any grace. He has been forced into that state for weeks on end. That frustration is eating him alive. Since he won’t talk about it I can only guess how much the bruising still troubles him. I suspect it is a great deal more than he will admit, even to himself.”

 _They doubt you. Listen to how weak they think you are! You cannot protect yourself, not in your_ _**condition** _ _._

“For heaven’s sake, find some way to convince him to let his body heal.”

_Oh, now you lack proper judgment._

In a blind rage, I tore around the corner flinging the glass orb at the stone wall beside the front door in a savage arc. The ball’s loud explosion startled both of them as they leapt back to evade the shower of shards.

“I can take care of myself!” I roared, offering them a heated glare from the railing.

Their shocked gazes up at me lingered for a tense moment before Christine hastily pushed against Damrosch’s chest. “You need to go. You need to go right now!”

“Do you think that is wise?” He tried to whisper.

Pointing down at the director I hissed. “Traitor. I can stand your sight no longer!” I abandoned the railing to once more seek refuge in my study.

Christine’s desperate plea echoed, “Just go, I need to calm him down before someone gets hurt.”

By the time she entered the study, I was sulking out on the balcony in deep regret of my action. Despite the adrenaline, I could feel the abused muscles screaming out in retribution for my foolish tantrum. She stood in the doorway, hands on hips, glaring at me. “That was utterly childish and completely inappropriate. Did you even stop to think what might have happened if you had struck one of us in your tirade?”

Meeting her eyes with a heated glare I shot back. “I knew where you were standing, I made certain to miss.”

“That is beside the point! Erik, your temper is quite ungovernable again. I’ll be honest with you, today your actions were befitting a spoiled diva!”

Turning my back to her, I tried to hide from the torment of her words. I couldn’t deny it. She was right. “It is my piece.” The words came out, devoid of power as I lost commitment to them the moment they were uttered.

“Damrosch made the same call today you would have, had someone else failed to perform.” She came to the balustrade beside me, her heated gaze locked on me. “For the quality of the music, you would pull any struggling musician from his chair. Why, when that musician is you, should the rules be any different?”

My head bowed under the weight of her words. Begrudgingly I admitted to myself she was completely correct. “I am sorry.” I whispered.

“I’m not the one you owe an apology to.” She waited for me to glance up at her. “Tomorrow, first thing in the morning, you are going to apologize to Damrosch for your behavior. I would insist upon tonight but I think that a carriage ride to his house would only irritate your temper further.”

I leaned my elbows on the balustrade and dropped my head into my hands, gazing blindly at the cobblestones below. There were no words to express how I felt.

A gentle hand rested upon my shoulder. “It worries me when you grow silent. When you refuse to share your burdens with me. I know that you are strong, but it’s like you forget you are no longer alone. You are a human being with all the limitation that goes with it. Please, talk to me, Erik.”

“There is no need for you share in this.” I sighed.

Her hand squeezed lightly on my shoulder. “I am your wife. Everything in our lives is shared, including the grief. Please, let me help you bear this … find some way for you to find ease enough to rest.”

Turning to her, I sunk down against the stone. Sitting there, I gazed up at my angel aglow in the evening air. “I want to hear you sing … sing just for me.”

Offering me a little curtsy, she glanced up at the starlight shimmering above. Softly she began to hum the tune of a lullaby, a simple melody I had written for Charles. But the words were not mine, they had come from my sweet Christine.

_Shine me bright up in the heavens_

_Gazing down upon the earth_

_Bright and beckoning the dreamer_

_High into the velvet night_

_In the dark I soar on wings of starlight_

_Sustained by visions none shall see_

_In my world, music’s the air we breathe_

_Swimming in a sea of endless night_

_Step into this world of wonder_

_Eyes awakened through the dawn_

_Draw me on until tomorrow_

_When the sun shall shine once more_

Trance-like, I applauded her. Out on the balcony we sat in the growing night. My angel sang for me, only for me.

* * * * *

My hand knocked on his office door, unlatched, the gap increased.

“Come in.” Damrosch barely looked up as I sullenly entered his office.

“I came … ” I meekly began, hardly able to meet his startled eyes as he looked up from the desk. “I came to beg your pardon for my puerile behavior yesterday. There is no possible excuse for how I had conducted myself.”

Pushing his chair back, Damrosch came around his desk to stand before me. There was no anger in his eyes, but a lingering concern. “Apology accepted. Honestly, I was shocked to have seen you at all yesterday. Erik, you really need to look after your health better. Between that push to finish the composition and then to attempt to sit the rehearsal yesterday … you need to be reasonable.”

“Reasonable.” A miserable laugh escaped me. “What a relative term … ”

“I’m serious.” He replied. “I need you to be concertmaster for the holiday festivals. I never wanted Reiniger to sit in for you. The man lacks your finesse on the strings. And no, I am not just saying that. It is woefully true. You did not hear his attempts yesterday.”

Cocking my head, I inquired. “You made it to the _Hummingbird_ movement?”

His crooked frown said it all.

“Oh dear. He slaughtered the poor thing, did he?”

Rubbing his forehead, he sighed, “Unless you intended the hummingbird to resemble the stately albatross in landing … then, I am afraid so. To say you are the only one frustrated by your forced convalescence is an understatement. But I won’t risk a practice making that period longer than it must be.”

“Not the worst of it.” I was aware of my fingers straying to my side. “Whomever is behind this knows I still draw breath. They have sent an unmistakable message.”

“You still don’t know who?” His eyes widened. “Does Christine know it wasn’t an accident?”

“No and no. I will not let her suffer the worry. It is why I must sort out how this man is getting information about me and put an end to this game.”

Damrosch nodded slowly. “True, you are hardly an open book to the world. It’s taken me years to learn what I have and I doubt that is even a fraction.”

“You know enough.” I held up a hand. “The remainder shall stay where it belongs, in the past.”

“I promise, if I hear of anything that might aid you in finding the culprit, you will be the first to know. Everyone here at Carnegie Hall respects you. I fail to see how that could be the source.”

Walking to the door I let my hand rest on the door knob, remarking. “At this point there are very few I do not consider a possibility.”

Damrosch straightened up with a start. “Surely you don’t suspect me?”

Offering him a crooked grin, I assured him. “If you had wanted to destroy me, Damrosch, you hold the power over the one thing that would accomplish that. The ability to banish me from my kingdom.” I held up a hand in gesture to the Hall as I took my leave to return to my home.

The short blocks took me longer than usual before I climbed the stairs to my front door. Belatedly, it occurred to me that had the sinister watcher wanted to carry out his plan, I had left him a grand opportunity in broad daylight to finish the job. And yet, the bastard hadn’t bothered. Shutting my front door behind me, I could not help but ponder this strange opponent.

“I heard you made an ass out of yourself yesterday.”

Glancing down from my passage halfway up the staircase, I discovered Nadir eyeing me. “Good morning to you, Daroga.” I dragged myself the rest of the way up, one step at a time, tailed by the Persian.

“I tried to warn you that your side was not healed enough.”

“Yes yes.” I snapped testily. “And I tried to ignore you, the result of which was an epic failure to conduct myself with any decorum. I have just returned from apologizing to Damrosch. Now, can we move on to figuring out how this mess came about in the first place?”

Closing the study door behind him, he drifted to the bedchamber making certain we were alone. “You will find this interesting. I have heard reports of some shady figures hanging around the Bowery.”

“Nadir.” I grumbled, sitting down gingerly upon the couch. “The Bowery is populated by shady figures. How is that out of the ordinary?”

“These ones are unknown to the general populace. Hooded and cloaked, they show up at random times during the night only to vanish in a few select alleyways. They speak to no one.”

I rested my temple against my fingers with the curt reply, “Just how did you learn of this, my clever friend?”

He chuckled. “You think you are the only one with a network?”


	22. Chapter Twenty-two

_ **Chapter 22** _

_ **** _

Impatiently I let another week pass, to Christine’s relief conducting very little physical activity. Beneath the linen binding, the bruising had begun to fade, changing from the dark jewel tone so appropriately described by Nadir to the mottled hue of moldering fruit. The tenderness still plagued me, but if I was careful, I found there was a greater range of motion allotted to me.

The sun hung low in the humid air, there was a chill in the breeze through my study window as I watched my brougham departing south on 7th Ave to connect with the ferry. Christine was off to an invitation to a festival, this one in Connecticut. The vision of her excited smile still lingered in my mind as I drained my glass of wine. I would have liked to have attended the festival myself, however pressing business kept me tied here.

“The horses are ready.” Nadir ambled in, hovering just behind me to watch my wife departing. “Erik, are you sure this is wise?”

Setting the empty glass on the desk, I let my fingers brush against the latest reports. “The number of disruptions and their severity is inexcusable. Some of the owners were beyond distraught, failing to report the incidents. In the end, before I was notified and could have intervened, they were forced into bankruptcy. Am I to ignore the burning of a textile mill where an entire family was killed? As far back as I can connect the chain of events, there have been over eighteen deaths and over fifty injuries, counting my own. Tell me, Nadir, do you think it wise to let this game play out any longer? Charles is safely away at school. Christine will be at the concert. Now is our chance to see what lurks in the dark shadows of the Bowery.”

His hands picked up a few of the reports, none of them bearing good news. “This much damage, flung so wide, it’s the systematic destruction … ”

“ … Of the empire I built.” Picking up my cloak, I reached inside the pocket to feel for the thin catgut cord. As I swung the garment over my shoulders, I felt the short blade securely hidden on my right side. “They rendered me incapable of defending it while they ran rioting through my carefully constructed world. It is beyond time I showed them how unwise it is to poke a stick at me.”

Nadir followed behind me as I drifted down the stairs. “If they do manage to … uhh … poke a stick at you … have you recovered enough not to double over? As you well know, the Bowery is not exactly a pleasant place.”

“That’s why we’re going on horse back, my friend. I am not intending to fight anyone this eve. The idea is to confirm what your sources have told you. Not even in that district do men just ‘vanish from the street like black wraiths’. I must say, that is quite an imaginative description.”

“Strangely familiar.” He eyed me as we entered my stable.

Taking the rein from Jacques, I swung up onto Faust feeling the horse’s anxious hooves dancing in the dirt. “The truth is Nadir, if I can do it, that does mean it is humanly possibly. It should not surprise me to find some hidden passageway.”

The clack of the hooves against the cobblestones filled the dusk air as Nadir’s mount, MehrzAd came up alongside me. “Do we have to do this at night?”

Bringing Faust up to a comfortable cantor, I settled into the stride, holding myself as limber as I dared to protect the ribs. “I’m certain that someone who is up to no good, running around in a hooded cloak, is not going to do so in broad day light. But what would I know of such behavior.” I threw him a dark grin over my shoulder.

Nadir rode in chastened silence as we descended into the southern slums of Manhattan, at last emerging onto the very street the Bowery derived its name from.

Wide and set with tracks for the streetcars, it was a nightmare to keep clean. Along the edges, debris lay abandoned beneath the feet of the crowd. The blast of a steam whistle pierced the night, the prelude to the deafening rumble of the elevated train that thundered on the tracks above us. Dust rained down, shaken loose by the passage of the iron horse. Every building was covered in a layer of dust and soot. Business banners hinted at bright colors as they hung tattered in the breeze.

Flophouses, brothels, every manner of seedy business poured out its patrons onto the street in an intoxicated mass. Even the Thalia Theater, a building that in itself bore all the elegance of a great Greek revival, ejected a mass of ostentatious sludge from the dregs of humanity through its mighty columns. It was almost painful to observe the infestation under the flicker of the lamps. A building that finely designed deserved the adoration of the fine arts, not the vulgarity of vaudeville.

Not a single race was left unrepresented. Depravity knew no skin color. My eyes searched the crowds, finding nothing but what one would expect. It should not surprise me if this lot was the sort to be found dumbly staring at Coney Island, mindless gazes taking in what was rumored to be a freak show. A shudder tore through me. Though I knew their desperation to find a place where they would find acceptance, I would never support such a debasing practice that degraded one to a state of _human oddity_. In my personal opinion, any who found entertainment in gawking at the misery of another pitiably showcased for all the world to see, was a subhuman himself. Of course I had been born to a certain bias there.

Lining the darkened streets, women strutted about flicking their fans to gain an interested eye. The flash of an ankle beneath a lifted skirt and off to find a shoddy room they went. Humanity for sale. Deplorable.

“You.” A scarlet clad harlot flashed her fan up at Nadir. “Come now, my olive skinned stallion. Surely your master will permit you a little time to exercise your beast. I’ll make sure you enjoy the ride!”

Nadir flushed as brightly red as her dress as he clumsily avoided the loud solicitations of the bawdy harlot by sidestepping MehrzAd closer to Faust. “Reminds me of the first apartments we held after arriving. The stinking gutters, the unbearable disruption of the trains,” casting an embarrassed glance at the harlot he added, “and who could forget the endless bustle of the patrons on the street level.”

“It was not far from here.” I remarked. “That landlord still owes me for fixing the leaking roof he refused to address. I should pay him a visit for his lovely remark that I was nothing but another piece of foreign flotsam drifted in by the tide that would never amount to anything.”

Faust came to a stop as a man teetered in front of our pathway. Glazed eyes appraised my horse as he tipped his bowler hat sloppily. “Well now, Gov’ner. What a lovely nag you have here.”

Faust nickered impatiently as I frowned down at the drunkard. The foul odor of old whiskey saturated him.

“Oh, yeah.” He continued raising a hand out towards Faust’s mane. “Twould make a wunnerful cart horse, she would.”

His sticky fingers were a hairsbreadth from the black mane when, on my whispered command, Faust slammed his hoof down on the man’s foot leaving him to cry out useless pleas.

I leaned forward and observed casually. “My dear fellow, it does appear that my horse has stepped upon you. I do apologize for that. He can be dreadfully sensitive about things.” Another whisper resulted in the Arabian’s hoof lifting in a sidestep to continue our journey as the man staggered back. “He is a stallion after all.”

In a gesture of disdain, Faust flicked his tail.

“A nag.” I scratched between his ears. “Do not listen to the ramblings of such an intoxicated retch. You are a fine stallion.”

Glancing up, Nadir pulled to a halt the same moment I had. Buried in the crowd was the unmistakable presence of two figures in dark hooded cloaks drifting toward the junction of Chatham street. “Did you see that?”

“Mmm hmm.” I replied stiffly. “I do not think they saw us.” Shifting through the crowd, we made our way through the bustling streets, making the corner of Chatham moments after the figures had. The corners of their cloaks fluttered in the air between two darkened buildings before vanishing.

Vanish they had. In the short dead end alley between the shuttered businesses there was nothing. Solid brick walls with only boarded windows lined the stinking alley. Sliding down from Faust, I let my fingers run along the crevices of the brickwork. There had to be something, some sign of a hidden ingress. On the filth caked ground there was no scuff from a wall shifting. The wooden boards on the windows had rust stains from the nails holding them fast. There were dozens of ways to vanish, but they required some manner of passage for concealment. Somewhere to go. The only thing I managed to find was a loose brick. Pulling it out only left a hole the size of the missing brick with lathing behind it. Ramming the brick back in place, I felt powder on my fingers, chalk? In the faint light of the alley I examined the strange substance. It was indeed chalk. Removing the brick again, my eyes discovered at least one secret; smudges of chalk. Whatever had been there was no longer legible. Clever! One of my favorite methods to communicate with my informants involved bricks. However, my method was a hollowed one for depositing notes and occasionally small payments. Chalk on a brick would leave nothing of value behind once the message was retrieved.

Encouraged by this little clue, I commenced the search a second time when Nadir nervously glanced over his shoulder. “Perhaps we would be wise to involve the police.”

I laughed, tapping the edging of the bricks with my drawn blade. “That useless lot? Even if they were not just a clueless bunch of corrupt men simply waiting to see which side offers the better bribe, what would you tell them? There are some mysterious fellows drifting about in hooded cloaks, disappearing into an alley. That will certainly get their attention. Then the next time I go out riding at night they’ll apprehend me for wearing a cloak. All we have is that they are unknown to even the usual crowd here.”

Shifting his weight on MerhzAd he held the reins with white knuckles. “I don’t like this, Erik. Not one bit. We don’t know how many may be … may be … where ever they may be.”

I stood back from the wall, aggravated by the fruitless search. For a moment, I doubted my eyes. In the darkened shadows it was almost invisible. Scorched into the bricks was a pattern so large that a casual glance would overlook it … even a scrupulous one had! The twisted coils of the serpent wrapped around the boarded windows in an unbroken line.

It had to be a coincidence, just the staining of aged bricks. The fevered result of wanting to find something here. Rubbing my eyes, I looked once more at the shape.

“What is it?” Nadir asked bringing MerhzAd behind me.

With the blade I traced the infinity shape in the air. “Am I imagining that?”

Narrowing his eyes he leaned forward in his saddle. “No. Do you think that is intentional? The sign of some sort of cult?”

Scrutinizing the bricks within the scorched pattern I still discovered no secret lever or device, no area that appeared to provide a passage into the apparently abandoned building. Frustration beyond all ends!

“A cult is not beyond the question.” I sheathed the blade before climbing up on Faust. “If so, there is some trick to their entrance.”

“That upsets you.” Nadir read off my distracted stare.

“A trapdoor that not even I can locate? Of course it does. However, we are clearly not going to gain admittance tonight.” Lowering my voice, I leaned towards Nadir, “This alley is to be watched at all hours. I will learn the secret of these reclusive men.”

Traveling out of the alley, Nadir eyed the boarded front door of the building. “Why not get in that way?”

Without a glance I laughed. “They are not inside that building. Where ever they have gone, it is by a tunnel that does not open to the inside of this abandoned structure.” When we had passed earlier, I had observed the burnt out remains of what once had been a flophouse. Soot coated every visible surface within. There was little chance even a single room would have been inhabitable. Passageway through the structure would result in trails of soot — there had been none. There must be some hallway, some tunnel entrance between the walls. In the immediate vicinity there were no less than a dozen possible locations where a subterranean tunnel could logically emerge. Discard logic and the possibilities became infinitely more complex. I doubted there was an existing front door.

For tonight, our search was done. Turning Faust back onto the Bowery, we headed north through the mass. Riding beside me, Nadir’s eyes never ceased to search the crowd which had grown even more rambunctious.

Passing onto a quieter side street, he finally breathed again. “I never want to go near that neighborhood again.” His hands strayed into his pockets. Once he had made sure all was still in his possession he sat back in the saddle. “Never would I have said a place was worse than a Persian prison until tonight.”

“I can think of a few places.” I remarked dryly. “Private audiences with the khanum, for example.”

“Praise Allah I never attracted her eye.” He sighed.

“I always wondered how you had gotten word of what transpired beyond those veils.” I cast him a knowing glare. “After all, you were forbidden entrance to her chambers. And yet somehow you had knowledge of her vulgar advances towards me.”

“Had the shah known … it would not have mattered that you rebuked her. Attracting her eye would be enough.”

I rolled my eyes. “If anyone deserved to be put to death in one of my mirrored chambers it was that deranged bitch. But, I digress, it is astonishing how informative an incomplete man can be. So tell me, Daroga, how much did you pay the eunuchs for their reports?”

His jaw tightened a bit before he spat out. “How did you know?”

“Her attending harem was off-limits. Even the officials of the court were prohibited from entering her chambers. That only left the eunuchs. It did not escape my pondering how unusual it should be that I was admitted to a place that no … shall we say … functioning male was permitted. However, whispers do have a tendency to travel. It seems to have been the opinion of the court that I posed no threat to the khanum nor the harem. That was a rather insulting notion.”

“I never believed that.” Nadir stuttered for a moment. “I mean — of course you could have killed one of them in a heartbeat — but with what you told me about the ‘weaker sex’ in those days I just couldn’t imagine you would try anything. Oh Allah, my words are just not coming out right!”

“Fortunate for me the shah believed that degrading rumor.” I eyed him sideways. “Or else I may have become like one of your informants … missing something.”

Nervously he laughed. “The shah wouldn’t have castrated you.”

  
“He ordered worse fates.” I offered him a shrug. “Not that it matters, he would have had very little luck achieving that indignity had he ever considered attempting it. There is something to be said about Persian culture. The depths of the human soul are plumbed on a regular basis. On the surface everything is sacred, but in truth, in a single word human dignity can be permanently stripped away in the name of civil service.”

“Blessedly it is in the past, in days long ago, across the sea.”

Time twisting ever onwards, we never truly go back, but how much can a soul truly move on?

It was well past midnight when we rode into the stable. The tangle of thoughts spiraled in my head. The symbol. Something about the symbol. Without a word I left the weary Nadir ambling towards his room. My goal was my study. Opening a drawer I pulled out the uroborus necklace … once more the weight and shape disturbingly familiar in my hands.

My eyes snapped open wide. I remembered!

Dashing down the stairs, I nearly tore the hinges of his door from the frame. Nadir’s jade eyes widened as I grabbed the collar of his shirt and furiously threw him up against the wall. Struggling against my hold, his mouth opened and closed without a sound.

In my other hand I shook the silver pendant. “What the _hell_ are you playing at! Do you think this is funny?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” He stammered.

“The pendant!” I roared. “Do not play coy with me! You had the last access to it!”

His jade eyes blinked in true confusion, he glanced at the silver but only briefly before his frightened eyes returned to me. “Left, in Persia.”

“That is right!” I snarled. “I did leave it in Persia! This was my pendant, the one in my possession when we first met. But I never took it from my possessions when you intruded upon me that night and demanded I show you where I had hidden any thing of value! I had left it in my apartments! So explain to me, Daroga, how it managed to materialize in the smoldering remains of the Phoenix Pavilion?”

“I don’t know!” he pleaded, “Erik, I did not take it either! I never even saw it after you stopped wearing it on a regular basis!”

Ramming him harder against the wall, I heard his forced exhale. “You are the _only_ Persian I know! I should have seen it earlier! Who else would have access to everything. Who else would know my secrets! You tried to distract me with that Bowery trip to keep me on your side. How very clever!”

“Erik please!” Nadir begged me. “Think about it, what do I have to gain from this? Why would I be manipulating you? It would be madness to try, after all who knows better than I what you are capable of?”

Shaken with the rage, the words slowly registered. My grip loosened on his collar. The moment he could pry my fingers loose, he retreated to the far end of the room watching my every move like a cornered mouse.

“I have nothing to gain from dismantling your success, Erik.” He panted. “As to how that pendant made it here … that is a troubling mystery. When I returned to the shah without you, I was immediately thrown into prison. I never had the chance to return to you apartments! You made many enemies in the courts, many chances that someone should wish vengeance upon you.”

Studying the silver coils I had once worn around my neck in the Russian fairs, the same alchemical symbol that had accompanied my courtly attire for a time, I swallowed deeply as the dread built. “Daroga,” I whispered distantly, “you do not know how much I wish it had been you.”

Nadir slunk forward, his eyes studying the silver chain shaking in my hands. “Consider this Erik. What manner of man carries such a hatred as to seek vengeance over forty years from an offense? Whomever is behind, this has carried his desire over an ocean. And this pendant proves he knows exactly who you are. What are you going to do?”

“No.” The snake’s eye winked up at me. “He knows who I _was_ , not who I have become.”

The Persian courts were known for murderous games of intrigue. Someone had chosen to bring the arena here to Manhattan with all the hallmarks of the deadly game. It was like a game of sudden death chess, and I was still wearing a blindfold at the table. I had to discover where my opponent had his pieces before it was too late … and the stakes just tripled.


	23. Chapter Twenty-three

_ **Chapter 23** _

_ **** _

Disturbingly, the weeks that followed into the dry husk of mid-September were devoid of any suspicious activity. From within my study I watched carefully over my books, tracking everything from raw material deliveries to shipments of finished products. Nothing went amiss. No major disasters made themselves apparent. Over the course of a few carefully planned rides, I made the rounds to each of the construction sites, all currently under Grimaudo’s watch. The Holt mansion very nearly brought me to my knees. The extent of the damage from the fallen stone was heartrending. I had been forced to admit that the damage to my rib cage was still inhibiting me a great deal. My pride would not permit me to even set foot on the scaffolding, lifting a mallet to a chisel. I would not even try that on ground level, for the act of raising my left arm pulled on the raw tissues.

Everything was quiet, too quiet. I had just finished examining the progress on the studio tower addition to Carnegie Hall, finding the resulting maze of passageways forming as expected, when I knocked on Damrosch’s office door. “Erik, it’s been over a week, what are you doing here?”

I sat down gingerly on the chair, glad to have an excuse to rest for a time. “Looking after Carnegie’s project. Fortunately, it seems my plan has not run into significant problems. My crews are making slow progress. The passages are forming as direct as possible. For now things are … quiet.”

He cocked his head for a moment. “Do you think it’s over?”

“To be honest, no.” Glancing at his desk, I noted the Hall’s ledger sitting there. Carefully I leaned forward, picking it up with a sight wince. I opened the book to glance over the numbers scrawled in his handwriting. August had once more failed to break even and September was not looking promising. “It is a well known tactic. Lure the victim into a false sense of security. However, I am all too aware that their game has not yet reached the climax. Do not fear, I am still vigilant, expecting some move in the near future. However, in the meantime I can hardly remain frozen in my place. Work on the sites has progressed.”

“You’re not carving stone, are you?”

I released a short laugh. “Oh no. If I cannot yet even lift a violin bow for the duration of a single song, there is no way I can swing a mallet with enough force to obtain much progress. No, unfortunately,” my shoulders fell under the weight of the admission, “not one of my projects shall be completed this building season. For the first time in … well … ever since I started Shadowcrest.”

Quietly he observed, “You look tired.”

“I have not done anything.” I snapped, dropping the ledger back on his desk. “For a month and a half I have done little more than merely exist, Damrosch. A state which has driven me to the edge of distraction.” Laying my head in my hand, I sighed. “My hands feel as if they are crawling out of the skin that binds them.”

He made a sound of uneasy discomfort at the description.

Glancing up, I assured him. “It is only an expression. Once I can resume my usual level of activity again, I will no longer suffer that agitation.”

“You need another distraction.” He sat up, glancing at the calendar. “Isn’t Harkness Academy’s fall musical recital in a couple of days? I would imagine Charles should be performing.”

“Yes. Christine and I will be heading upstate tomorrow morning.” Rubbing my unbound side, I shrugged. “This should prove to be an interesting ride, it will be longest I have spent in a carriage since.”

“Some of those roads … ”

“Are beyond rural. Yes, I know. Fortunately, it has been a dry summer and there should not be many washouts or ruts. The journey will be worth it, Harkness has such a wonderful music program.”

Damrosch opened his desk drawer and pulled out a folded letter with a conspiratorial smile. “The reason you boarded your only progeny there. And as I have been hearing, he has made quite the impression!”

“Oh? And what have you there?”

He waved the paper in the air teasingly. “Only a letter informing that I would be completely taking leave of my senses if I let young master Daae slip through my fingers upon his completion of schooling. He is listed amongst a number of other prospective boys of various instrumental talent. I have been encouraged to audition him immediately for the Symphony Society and perhaps utilize him for tutoring.”

“Whom did you hear this fascinating news from?” I wanted to pluck the letter from his hand, but resisted the temptation.

“None other than the head of their music program, Mister McClenachan. He wrote me with no other intent then this.” Damrosch shrugged. “There may be a letter in your office as well. I do not make it a habit to open your letters.”

Rising from the chair, I confessed, “It has been a while since I checked. Forgive the distraction. I hope I have not missed too many pressing matters in my absence.”

Laying his hands upon the desk he laughed. “Busy as always. But I am confident at least the most important details have been handled.”

“Except for this.” With a wave of my hand a cheque fluttered down onto his desk. “My estimate was a little high, but that should cover things for a while. Good day, Damrosch.”

Over my shoulder I saw his jaw hanging open as he picked it up. In my office I found a small collection of letters scattered about the desk, waiting for my attention. Among them a plain envelope from Harkness Academy. Inside, the handwritten glowing recommendation of my son to join Carnegie Hall. I could not help but wonder if McClenachan had any idea that Charles Daae was the son of Carnegie Hall’s Director of the Arts. By the wording of the letter it did seem to have escaped his detection. Not entirely his fault, I was more recognized as the concertmaster. My directorial duties were more conducted behind closed doors. Sliding the letter back inside the envelope, I tucked it into my breast pocket for safe keeping. I knew right where this should be while I attended my son’s musical recital … my son, the musical genius of Harkness Academy.

* * * * *

The lobby of Harkness Academy’s auditorium was a tight fit for the gathering crowd. Architecturally it may have been wiser for more floor space rather than height. The Gothic style added a rather severe flavor to the building, befitting the purpose of the classical musical arts. However, this was not a cathedral and the vaulted ceiling in this packed lobby only served to create a cacophony of clashing sound. Thankfully the auditorium itself was well designed for its purpose and that was all that mattered. Crammed elbow to elbow with the parents waiting to take their seats, I felt Christine’s hand on my arm. A constant physical reminder that I needed to mind my natural reflexes in such proximity on the school grounds. Charles was undergoing enough pressure from my physical appearance, he didn’t need an inappropriate social interaction towards a classmate’s parents complicating things.

Well over an hour had passed since we had entered the doors, we had hardly moved halfway through the lobby. By now I had been subjected to several bodies bumping against me, an activity that normally put me ill at ease. But with a bruise still the coloration of a rotten apple on my ribs, the incidents were causing physical discomfort as well. I was beginning to regret having dared to leave the binding off.

A man bumped into my right side, turning immediately in apology. “Begging your pardon, Sir! Trying to get through … oh! You! You must be the father of Charles Daae!” He held out a hand to me. “I have never had the chance to formally meet you, Sir. McClenachan, head of the music department.”

The desire to chastise the man for his clumsiness banished itself immediately as I grasped his warm hand. “Pleasure to meet you. Monsieur Erik. This is my wife, Madame Christine Daae.”

“An absolute pleasure!” With an air of over-exuberance he shook both our hands. “Let me tell you that son of yours is astonishingly gifted! I have never heard such natural abilities.”

There was no fighting the smile triggered by his words.

McClenachan continued before I could even hope to assemble a reply. “In the past years his recital pieces have been a real delight, but this year, this year he came up with something truly inspired!”

Christine bowed her head a little. “Charles has a lot to be inspired by. After all he spends most of his summer with the musicians around Carnegie Hall.”

“Has he a tutor there? I should very much like to meet his mentor.” He replied eagerly.

“Both of us are involved with the hall. I am a singer with Oratorio Society.” She gestured to me. “Erik is the concertmaster of the Symphony Society and the Director of the Arts. He is also Charles’s private tutor.”

The color drained from his face for a moment as his hand covered his gaping mouth. He stammered briefly before finding his voice. “Then I wrote you … of news of recommendation … for your own son! By God, no wonder the boy is so talented with the two of you as his parents! Forgive my lack of attendance to Carnegie Hall in these last years, or else I should have known who you were … surely I should have. It shall become my highest priority.”

I waved a hand to dismiss the remarks. “Your highest priority should always be in securing the future of your students. If your letter is any indication, there are several students I should be interested in offering apprenticeships to. I assure you, the performances of all the mentioned names interest me, not merely my son’s.”

He looked mildly alarmed as he pulled out a pocket watch to observe the time. “If you will excuse me, I have to get back stage. Please, enjoy the recitals. Afterward if there are any students you should like to meet with, I would be more than happy to facilitate that, Monsieur.”

As he vanished into the crowd Christine cocked her head up at me. “Letter? What letter?”

My fingers exposed the corner of the letter from its hiding place within my jacket as we followed the crowd toward the doors.

She eyed me with a grin. “When were you going to tell me he was recommended for the Hall?”

Snugging the letter back into my pocket, I shrugged, offering a crocked smile. “After the recital when I was going to show Charles as well. It was supposed to be a surprise.”

Inside the gilded auditorium we found seats toward the center of the room, about two-thirds back. I wanted the best sound possible for this. In this vault, it was the best arrangement. Idle chatter filled the space until at long last McClenachan crossed the stage. As was customary, the hall fell into silence.

“Ladies and Gentlemen. We are here tonight on this grand occasion to celebrate the hard work of the students here at Harkness Academy. All summer long each student in our prestigious musical program is assigned the task of selecting a piece for the autumn recitals. They have worked long and hard on their selections and this year we have quite a remarkable variety for the ear. Without further ado, let us proceed with the auditory feast!”

The first student’s name was entirely lost to the applause as McClenachan left the stage to him. It was indeed a feast for the ears. As usual, the presentations were well rehearsed and selected. Classical pieces from great composers of all eras filled the air. This was what I had hoped the youth musical festival will sound like, reaching the high standard Damrosch and I hoped to one day forge the future of music. Everything had to start somewhere, and for the first year we had to compromise a little.

“For your delight, our next piece is being performed for the very first time. May I present Charles Daae with his original composition _Dusk’s Serenade_.”

I snapped to attention at this little announcement, eagerly waiting as the stage remained empty for an uncomfortable pause. A murmur grew in the audience until at long last my son walked out onto the stage toward the piano at its center. How many hours we had spent sitting side by side at the piano over the years since his arrival in Manhattan five years ago. Even as our relationship grew awkward with the arrival of his adolescence, the piano had still retained a common ground between us. Yet, a new piece! He had not told me of his endeavor to compose. Perhaps he had stolen time in my music room while I was away at the work sites. The early summer had been filled with many days in which I had been absent from dawn until dusk. Let him take the bench and show the world what a talented boy I knew him to be.

Only … he didn’t take the bench. Rigidly, Charles passed right by the piano, striding to the front of the stage. The limelight revealed the glint of bright silver metal in his hand. As he held it almost behind his leg it was difficult to tell what it was. Leaning to the side, I tried for a better angle that was proving impossible to obtain. Charles closed his eyes for a long moment, just breathing with that bright light shining upon him. I remembered the first time at Carnegie Hall, the almost paralyzing emotions that had overwhelmed me to the point where Damrosch had been nearly compelled to physically push me onto the stage—and I had been a grown man! I recognized the signs in my son now as he withdrew into himself for the resolve to perform.

 _You have it in you, Son! Just like this summer, take a breath and just play your heart._ I silently willed him.

The long wand of silver at last rose into view as Charles brought a flute up to his lips.

A flute? When did he start learning the flute? I didn’t even have one. In fact, out of sensibility my entire music room was devoid of wind instruments.

The moment he breathed into the mouthpiece the soul of that silver instrument dissolved the entire building into an illusion. No longer the stifling air of the room, it was replaced by the cool fresh air of an evening walk through the woods. The swift cascade of notes mimicked the chirrup of the crickets in the reeds. Long notes brought the wind to blow through the starlit leaves as they shivered on the branches. It was a beautiful setting, growing into a lucid scene that even the most musically illiterate would find alluring. Notes sang out, a strange and yet familiar pattern built as his fingers teased out of the flute a breathy tune … where had I heard it before? Closing my own eyes, I felt the movement of the notes rather than hearing them. The thread of music tempting my thoughts to another time, another place … another voice. The nightingale!

I bolted upright in my chair. The notes, the phrases! These were not the ones I had used in my composition, but that is where I had first heard them. The little nightingale had sung them lustily from his perch throughout the visits to my study. I had sworn more than once that a shadow had fled from my door when I turned. Convincing myself it had only been a servant lured by the music, I had thought nothing of it.

My son, my very own offspring had written a composition from the same inspiration as I—and it was extremely compelling! I was astonished, finding my jaw hanging open as I devoured each phrase he poured out. It was nothing short of magical.

The last note trembled in the air before he lowered the flute to his side, bowing to the silent auditorium. Eagerly the audience sat forward. They had tasted his genius and hungered for more. A savage hunger born of having sampled something real in a world of illusions. Charles, you have done it!

Applause exploded into the air as he walked off the stage. People rose from their seats in adoration. McClenachan had been correct, Charles was nothing short of a musical genius. If I could have chosen but one thing as his natural inheritance from me, this would have been my choice. I could not have been prouder of what he had done with his gift. My hands stung from clapping before we at last took our seats for the remainder of the recitals.

It had taken tremendous resolve not to abandon my seat and seek out my son in the midst of the performances. Only the sense of immense rudeness of such an action kept me chained to that chair. Once the last applause died out, I immediately left my seat to wind down through the crowd in an attempt to locate Charles back stage. In my haste, I had left Christine chatting with a lady in the next seat over. Charles, I had to find my son. If I held back my pride in his performance much longer, I felt my chest would rend itself open. We were so alike, both of us able to pluck music from the air.

Behind the curtain, he stood chatting with a couple of boys as he held his flute in both hands. It was such a foreign instrument to me, and yet I knew what heartrending beauty it could produce. My son had shown me that.

Coming into their company, I found myself towering over the adolescent group that grew silent in my presence. Some of these boys had been at the music festival. Charles had grown over the summer, but he had yet to reach my height. This forced him to look up into my eyes. I faltered in my words, unable to form the sentences I wished to say. In the silence, I heard his words, his voice firm and scathing as he brandished the flute. “Well Father, it seems I have finally found something you cannot do.”

Had he taken that flute and shoved it physically through my heart, I do not think it could have hurt me more than his words. Stunned by his bold declaration, I was rendered incapable of speech as the boys burst into uproarious laughter. Their hands thumped Charles upon the back and shoulder as they shifted away from me, vanishing into the crowd as my unspoken praise withered and died in my throat.

Inside my chest, a dangerous throb began to grow. A deep rhythmic pulse that fed into my convulsing fist. How dare he! How **dare** my son do such a thing! My eyes searched into the bustling throng for a sign of him. No—get out of here! Leave now or you will regret your actions. I felt it, that murderous urge. The boy had slighted me in front of the others. If I dealt with him now my fury would flay him.

Turning on my heel, I shoved my way out into the lobby. Christine rushed toward me. The moment she observed my ire, her eyes glanced back into the crowd. “Erik, what happened? Did someone hurt your chest?”

I continued to push out of the building, growling through clenched teeth. “You could say that! We are going home, now!”

“My Love,” she panted trying to keep up with my pace as we exited the building to walk to our carriage. “What happened?”

“Our son has turned his wondrous talent into a slap across my face.”

“No, truly you heard him wrong … ”

I cut her off as I snarled, “He meant what he said! He dared to point out to me that I am incapable of playing a wind instrument! If you had seen the look in his eyes as he wielded that flute over me. I had been waiting to profess how proud I was at his talent and instead he spat upon me!”

Casting her eyes back to the building that was fading into the darkness as we proceeded down the road, she shook her head. “We need to go talk with him.”

“If I do that now, he will not draw breath by morning.” I promised, feeling my fist convulsing again. Leaping into the carriage, I waited as Christine climbed in with some reluctance before I slammed my fist against the door and shouted, “Driver, take us home.”

“Home, Sir? But it’s the middle of the night. That’s a long way!”

“Are you deaf? I said home, **now**!”

The carriage rolled forward past the rest, the other parents were still inside reveling with their children. Where was I? Leaving in fury.

Christine placed a delicate hand on my shoulder. “When he comes home later this autumn I will have words with him.”

I pulled away with a grunt. “Oh, I will have words with him! If he thinks there is no consequences for such a despicable declaration, he shall be taught otherwise!”

“He’s just a boy.” She begged, her hands twisting the lace on her shawl.

My fist once more met the door with a loud bang. “Foolish woman! He is practically a man and the sooner he learns, the better he shall be for it.”

“Have a little mercy, Erik.”

I lapsed into a stone cold silence for the remainder of the long ride home, unwilling to converse further on the subject. Beside me, Christine’s eyes stole glances in each fresh attempt to prompt words from me. Inside I seethed with rage, haunted by his words. How could he?


	24. Chapter Twenty-four

_ **Chapter 24** _

_ **** _

The days that followed did nothing for my broiling temper. Still finding my aching ribs constricting my activities, my thoughts continued to circle violently undeterred around the night of the recital. My son’s harshly spoken declaration poisoned my existence until at last, on a chilly day with the rain lashing the windows of music room, I stripped off the mask and tossed it aside. In my hands, the cold silver instrument felt awkward as my fingers settled into place. Bringing the mouthpiece up to my lips, I shifted it back and forth in a frustrating search, trying to find some angle that would provide the proper air flow. It was a maddening puzzle! My malformed upper lip utterly defeated any strategy I tried. All I ever managed to produce was the thin squeal of a whistle that grated on the ear. I now knew why I had always restrained myself from even attempting to play a wind instrument.

I never accepted defeat! Of late, too many times the aggravation of limitation had visited me. Now, here I was pacing my music room, rolling an inanimate object against my lips as it mocked my capabilities … my son mocked my capabilities! All I could hear was that insidious laughter invading my thoughts again.

_You will never be able to do this! This truly is a skill that lies outside of your abilities. Keep trying, you will only continue to fail in new ways!_

In savage fit of rage, I flung the flute with all my strength against the closed door. The roar of my frustration was loud enough to shake the foundations of my home. That may have been an exaggeration, but to my perspective it seemed probable. When the echoes died away, I was left to the sound of my ragged breathing accompanied by the patter of the rain drops against the glass.

The latch on the door clicked. A moment later it creaked open as an olive skinned hand cautiously grasped the edge. Nadir’s jade eyes searched from behind the door, at last settling upon the gleaming twisted metal that lay on the floor. Very slowly, he edged his gaze to my tense figure. From the safety of his make-shift shield he murmured. “Something is bothering you.”

“What was your first indication of that!” I snapped irritably.

Pointing down at the destruction, he inquired, “May I ask why you felt the need to destroy whatever that once was?”

Flexing my hand, I glared at the still shimmering metal tube. “It **was** a demented flute and the very presence of it mocks me!”

Nadir’s eyebrows rose. Pushing through the door, he closed it behind him, sparing any chance of a curious servant seeing me unmasked. Picking up the instrument, he examined it. “I was unaware an instrument could manipulate on its own. Besides, I have never seen a flute in here before. Where did it come from?” Cocking his head, he observed me suspiciously.

“It came from Carnegie Hall!” I snatched it from his hands before unceremoniously throwing it into the case and slamming it shut. Prevented by the mangled flute within, the latches refused to catch only fueling my anger. Before any sensibility could intervene, my hands grasped the case and threw it against the wall. Now not only the instrument was destroyed, but the case now lay shattered in half a dozen pieces.

Nadir sighed, “Well, I hope you hadn’t planned on returning it in that condition. Someone is bound to notice.”

“I’ll replace the damn thing!” Flinging myself down on the piano bench, I rested my forehead in my hands. Concentrating on slowing my breathing, I became aware of the dull aching of my head. Damn it, I would need to prepare another tincture to chase this one away. What other frustrations would visit me today? “It will never even be missed.”

Bending down, he picked up the pieces one by one, assembling the remains into the largest portion of the case before approaching the piano and setting it beside me. “I hope that wasn’t some musician’s heirloom.”

“I can assure you I was not that callous. I procured it from the instruments we use for the tutoring program. There should not be need of it until the spring. Damrosch will never have known it went amiss.”

“Erik.” His gaze weighed upon me until I looked up to meet his eyes. “It’s not about a missing instrument. Something is eating away at you. This wasn’t just an activity chosen on a lark.”

Absently, my fingers drifted to the keys of the piano, brushing soundlessly against the ivory while I attempted to find the words. Charles … why? I just don’t understand.

“I’m waiting.” Nadir tapped a foot.

A whisper was all I could manage, the words wrenched me even as they escaped my lips. “May I ask your advice, my friend?”

He paled by a few shades, bracing himself with a hand on the edge of the Steinway. “Excuse me? My advice? Erik, are you feeling alright?”

Pensively, I shook my head before swallowing the lump in my throat. “To be honest, no, I am not.” Pushing up from the piano, I replaced my mask before drifting to the window, my eyes idly watching the soaking downpour. A flash of distant lightning brightened the grim sky, but the heart of the storm was too far away to hear the thunder.

Silence stretched on, but each time I tried to speak the words eluded me. I felt his hand upon my shoulder as he came beside me. His voice soft and sincere, “I am listening.”

Taking a deep breath, I steadied myself with a hand on the windowsill. “Nadir … you were a father once. How … how can I fix things with my son?”

He closed his eyes, a tremble in his hand against my shoulder betrayed that I had failed to word the question sufficiently enough to not cause him pain. His fingers tightened as he muttered grimly, “Why not do as you once did with my son, use your voice to bend him to your will.”

Hastily I shook my head. “I cannot do that to him!”

“No?” His hand wrenched me around to face him, the jade eyes bright with tears. “Not to him, not to your own son? But mine, my own son was not beyond such vile deception as you spirited him away from me in his last years on this earth! Do you know how it felt to see him lured by your voice, controlled like a puppet as I stood by idle, bound by your will. Do you have any inclination of how much that hurt me?”

Chafed by his words, I lowered my gaze and whispered. “I do now … please, Nadir, words cannot express how much I regret my selfishness in stealing Reza’s heart from you. I cannot undo that sin. In those days I only wished to bring him wonder and joy, as much as I could provide in the short time he had left before the cruelty of nature stole him from this world.” His hand still upon my shoulder, there was no way he would have failed to notice I was shaking. “I never stopped to consider … and I should have.”

His hand fell away from my shoulder, finding support on the window ledge. Words failed both of us as we listened to the steady rain.

“I am sorry.” Taking a step back, I turned away from him. “I never should have asked you.”

“No.” Once more his hand rested upon my shoulder, his voice trembling as he spoke. “No, you gave Reza peace, a dignified end. It was for that reason that I spared you the Shah’s wrath. My son would have wanted you to live … my son would be ashamed of me if I abandoned you now.”

Slowly the pressure of his hand brought me around to face him. He did not bother to wipe the tear from his cheek.

“Erik.” He had to swallow to banish the cracking from his voice. “My son and I did not have very long in this world together … but we can see if it was enough to help you now. I know you have been struggling with Charles, clearly something happened.” His eyes strayed to the flute.

More than once I faltered as I tried to recount the recital. Finding myself pacing the room, at last I had managed to spit out the nature of his crude insult before coming to halt and collapsing on the piano bench. “When did we become rivals? Nadir, I do not wish to hurt my son. I was so proud of what he had achieved. Why did he throw that in my face? His talent was so astonishing that I instantly forgave him for hiding this new endeavor from me!”

The entire time he had listened in silence as I stumbled through the events. Only now did he wander across the room to take a seat. Folding his hands across his lap, he sat in thought for some time, long enough that I dropped my forehead once more into my hands. I really needed to start brewing that tincture soon, the throb of my headache was growing steadily worse. I could hardly excuse myself now. This subject had been difficult enough to broach the first time, it was beyond imagination to consider doing so again.

“I am so utterly and completely lost!” I heard my voice muttering. “What have I done to him to deserve this?”

“Perhaps nothing.” Nadir shifted in the chair, leaning back. “Maybe this has nothing to do with any direct action. You say the boys in his attendance started to laugh? Is that any different then the teasing that plagued the Paris Opera? I remember you telling me of the ballerina’s shifting loyalties that you witnessed from the shadows. Might this be happening to Charles? He sees and hears the other boys challenging their fathers, as is often the case during this age, and he strives to exceed you for no other reason.”

“There is no need for a challenge!” I protested, almost rising from the bench. “I respect my son, I love him! There is no need for any of this.”

“In your eyes.” He shrugged. “However, to Charles and his peers perhaps it is a right of passage.”

Frantically I grasped my knees, my nails digging into them as I recalled the thrown down gloves at the fencing lesson. “I do not want to fight with my son! Nadir, I would never hurt him. Why would he wish to hurt me?”

His eyes observed me with great sympathy. “I doubt that is his real desire, Erik. He is your son and as such, the world will expect a lot from him. The shadow you cast is immense and Charles likely has been led to believe he will be hard pressed to come out from beneath it into his own success. Help him see he is already achieving that by his own merit, just as you have told me.”

It seemed so simple. It seemed too simple, and far too direct compared to my typical approach.

“Just talk to him.” Nadir intruded my thoughts. “Man to man. Charles is in the middle of a very tough stage now. Think of when you were his age.”

Giovanni’s wise face flashed before me. He had been so patient, so trusting. He had given me the tools and the space to grow at a time when I had been a vagabond without purpose. Had he known how painful my internal struggle had been to let my guard even partially down in his presence?

“My life … ” I started slowly, the weight of my words dragging my shoulders down. “Christine was right, my life cannot be compared to Charles. That’s a blessing for him. It is an unjust comparison. Fortunately, there will be some time before he comes home for a break from school. I have time to consider how to approach this.”

Getting up from the chair, Nadir picked up what remained of the flute and its case. “If you are wondering, this was not a wise approach. Thank Allah the boy had not chosen a larger instrument! I shudder at the thought of a bassoon!”

Inside, my heart was still broken … but Nadir’s words forced a fit of laughter I had not known I possessed in the midst of my melancholy.

* * * * *

Dawn’s pale light washed through the windows of my study, a soft glow bathing my shoulders in its warmth. Wisps of smoke trailed lazily up from the candle I had recently extinguished, no longer requiring the extra light as my fingers worked the drawing lead over the vellum. Gears and springs, levers and wires. I hadn’t been called upon to concoct something of this nature for some time. There had been no calling for it in my typical contracts.

I heard the rasp as the bedchamber door open. It took every effort not to pause in my scribbling. The longer I visibly ignored her approach, the longer I delayed the inevitable. A long stem smokey hued rose tied with a red satin ribbon hovered in the air, blocking my view of the draft.

“Erik, dear.” She continued to move the rose as I attempted in vain to remain distracted on my task. “This is the fifth morning in a row I have woken to find the bed empty and a rose lying in your place.” Running the soft petals against my chin, the flower forced me to turn my gaze up to her smiling face. “How many mornings must this continue? I said I forgive you.”

Clumsy fingers dropped the lead as I folded my hands in my lap, feeling rather childish I implored. “I should not have called you a foolish woman. My love, I am entirely unworthy of your ready forgiveness.”

Laughing quietly as she partook of the beautiful flower’s heady aroma, she blushed. “Oh Erik, must you offer me your entire garden stem by stem to feel you have made up for a few careless words? I understood you were upset in the carriage. They were words, spoken in French I might add, which was rather telling. You are in such a habit of speaking English that you rarely slip into tongues these days unless some emotion has seized you.”

Had I really slipped back into my native tongue without noticing? Damnable! Why could I have not slipped into Russian, or Persian, or some rare dialect of Italian she would not have comprehended. No, it had to be French, the native tongue we both shared.

Bowing my head I professed, “I would fetch every flower upon this earth in apology for the slightest transgression. There is no excuse for my tongue turning upon you.”

“My Angel, you were upset.” She reiterated, kneeling down she now occupied the space where my eyes had sought refuge. “There is nothing to forgive, they were just words spoken in heat.”

 _Words? Only words? So much more._ My hand gripped the armrest, turning my already pale knuckles even whiter.

Leaning up into me, she kissed my bare cheek. “I know what you will say even before you say it for I have heard it before. That words have the power to cut out a strong man’s heart. But I ask you to remember my reply now each and every time … words only hold power if you let them.”

“My love—” I tried to protest but her finger pressed against my lips. Now my only option left would be ventriloquism, an act of power that tended to unleash a side of me I had been trying to bury for some years. I was now forced to listen.

“I am not discounting the reality of the world. Merely reminding you that there is a choice of response.” Grasping my hand, she held it to her heart. “When Charles comes home from Harkness we shall both have a word with him. Calmly, rationally, and resolve whatever is causing him to behave like this.” Glancing at the rose on the desk, I saw her blush once more. “As much as I adore the flowers, please stop feeling as though you need to apologize. I really mean it, you are forgiven with all my heart.”

Exhaling slowly, I lowered my forehead until it met hers. The warmth of the contact was a balm. “I do not deserve you.”

Nestling into my arms she laughed, full and free. “Stop being so serious. Tonight I want you to play for me. I long to have you bespell me with music. It has been too long.”

A slight smile teased at my lips. “No violin for a while yet, my dear. I can tell that any attempt yet would be premature and punishing.” Glancing at the Steinway that had gathered a little dust in the corner of my study I mused, “Perhaps the piano might be feasible for a time. Later we may try if you like.”

Her hand gently caressed the left side of my rib cage. The slight pressure registered as a twinge, but not with the fire I had experienced before. I was not ready to dare wielding a mallet and chisel yet, I might get a dozen solid strikes before my flesh would cause me to buckle over in pain, setting me back even further.

“Christine.” She gazed up at me playfully. “As much as I would love to stay here all day,” I gestured at the vellum, “I really should get to my laboratory, something that is quite impossible with you leaning on my lap.”

With a resigned sigh she stood up allowing me to rise. As I reached down and swept the rose into my hand and it seemed to effortlessly multiply into an entire bouquet. Presenting them to her with a bow, I declared, “These are for the remainder of the week.”

Rolling her eyes she kissed me before I could replace my mask and snatch up the vellum, proceeding to up my lab.

_* * * * *_

Carefully, I made a minute change to the angle of the gear, adjusting the amount of contact between the teeth. Why was this particular build so bloody difficult? I had dealt with difficult clients before. But even the shah of Persia had not changed his mind so utterly and completely nor half so many times. This device in my hand was just another oddity Ballard required, of the kind that I could not possibly fathom handing off to someone else. I did not share the secrets of my mechanism’s construction so readily. A bead of sweat trailed down from my forehead, when it threatened to fall into the device’s delicate interior I hastily flicked it away.

“Here we are again.” My voice echoed through the laboratory.

Closing my eyes tightly, I swallowed.

Silence. Nothing but the ticking of a clock on the shelf. Setting my fingers back to the task I stretched a spring towards a hidden latch.

“Trap doors and triggers. Sweat pouring down your neck.” A dark laugh issued forth from the doorway behind me. “So familiar a situation. Once more slave to a task master hungering to tap more of your unique skills, to possess a larger piece of your genius. I hope you are content with the price.”

Narrowing my eyes, I tightened the screw one turn too many. The spring snapped back catching my finger in the process. A sting, the bloom of fresh blood blossomed forth as I cursed aloud.

“This will end as it always does, Erik. Haven’t you learned the cost by now? Blood, sweat, and tears; it is always your own”

I turned around, searching for a strip of cloth to mop up the trickle of blood. Keeping my gaze trained on the counter top, I found a piece of clean linen and tied it in a neat little knot with a grit of my teeth.

“Ohhh Erik.” The voice chanted out, encircling my head, invading my very thoughts. The paralyzing tone penetrated my concentration. “You cannot possibly ignore me forever. You know that, do you not?”

Taking a few deep breaths, I forced my body to turn back to the work bench. My hands balled into tight fists as I leaned there, just breathing. _My will is my own, my will is my own._

“Of course it is.” A footfall came directly behind me followed by the insidious voice. “You and I are one in the same.”

My left hand crept towards the knife as my body tensed. Clenching my jaw, I released a low growl. “Stop saying that. It is not true!”

Laughter, filled to the brim with a mocking mirth, answered my demand. “You are only denying the truth, Erik. I taught you everything you know.”

“Oh please.” I spat, feeling the weight of the weapon gripped within my fingers. “You and I are worlds apart. State such a ridiculous notion once more and I shall slay you where you stand.”

A shadow cast over my left shoulder, the caress of breath on my ear as his whispered voice penetrated my mind. “And you say we are different. I fail to see how.”

“Silence!” Rounding on him with the blade, I saw the masked figure dance backward. His cloak swirled about him as he offered a mocking grin. It was maddening; the way his gestures taunted, the way his voice focused and drew forth instinctual reactions. Ah! Was this the hell I had put others through?

Sliding an elegant hand through his black hair, he fixed the angle of the mask. “Spirited, Erik, my old man. Very spirited. I must congratulate you. This is progress.”

“Progress?” I slashed the air with the blade. “You must be jesting if you call this progress. Have I not declared that I grew weary of your tiresome chatter? Now be gone!”

He turned his back on me, letting the cloak naturally cascade about him. “How very naïve of you to assume you can banish yourself. Then again, you always have been a little short sighted, never more so than recently. Such a shame, considering the glory you had risen to before. The world could have been yours, Erik. But instead of seizing it you made the choice of abandoning your greatest strength. Then, when you heard but a whisper of her voice once again, you were once more stricken by weakness.”

“Enough!” My hand trembled. Shuddering with rage I felt my body take a step forward.

Holding up a rose, his eyes narrowed with disdain. “Oh sweet flower that should consume me in the fires of hell. Bind and chain the angel to the sepulcher of a slow and meaningless death. Heights never shall I assume again having surrendered to the most dreadful of fates. To slowly bleed to death in the suffering throws of … love.”

Of their own accord my eyes closed tightly. My flesh burned with every step I took. “You will cease this torment immediately!”

Sidelong, he glared at me. “Or what, weakling? You cannot possibly silence me.”

Lunging at him, I released a cry as I fell into the void he left behind. The black cloak fluttered through my fingers. His maniacal laughter filled the air as he turned and beckoned me with his finger. “Now there is that spark! It is weak, only a faint cinder. But, undeniably, it is still there. Come now, come and do what you long to do.”

Recovering my balance, I stalked toward his waiting form. That smile, that venomous smile hovered right beneath the mask. That cold stare devoid of any warmth seeped into my veins. Behind the eyes there was no heart. I had to resist the urge … I must fight the desire …

“Abysmal failure.” He swept his back to me. “You have amounted to nothing but a pathetic freak.”

With a cry of rage, I launched myself at him only to throw my body against the work bench. Glassware crashed to the floor. Shards scattered everywhere as I slid to the end. “Get back here!”

Laughter filled the room. His voice flashed from cabinet to counter top, each time I brought the blade down in a destructive slash.

“Why are you hiding?” I snarled, yanking open a door so violently I tore it from the hinges. “You asked for this, you meddlesome arrogant little sot! How I ever could have been as vile as you—”

“Oh, but you were!” I turned to find him reclining across the counter, his leg swinging idly. “You were me, once upon a time.” He laughed. “Is that not how fairy tales begin? Was that not how you dreamed it? Once upon a time there lived a deformed monster who banished himself to the world of the night. No one loved him … no one ever will.” Leaning forward like a cat about to pounce, he whispered his taunt. “He is still too blind to accept the truth!”

“Get out!” Throwing myself head long at the counter I found myself deposited roughly on the other side.

The door to the laboratory slammed against the far wall. “Erik? What’s wrong?” Christine’s voice stopped in a gasp. “Oh my God! Nadir, hurry!”

Flinging my arm up onto the counter, I hauled myself up not even sparing a glance to the door. My eyes searched frantically for him. He was still here. I could feel his presence. Just had to bide my time, he would reveal himself.

Laughter erupted from the corner. My hand lashed out. Snatching a flask, I threw it with a mighty crash into the dark.

“Erik, what are you doing?” Nadir cried out as he dashed into the room, his body shielding Christine.

I did not answer. Instead I concentrated on hearing _him_. He would not get the best of me. Oh no, this time I would be ready.

“Over here.”

A metal box became my next weapon as I hurled it into a corner behind me. “Taught me all I know.” I muttered taking a step toward the collapsed ruin. “That only means I have superseded you.”

“Erik.” Nadir’s voice fought hard to reach me through the thundering of my heartbeat. “Please answer me. I beg of you!”

“Turn to the darkness.” The voice hissed in my ear.

“I don’t need you anymore!” Screaming with rage I slashed to find empty air.

“Please stop!” Christine’s plea barely reached me. “Erik, you’re frightening me!”

Stalking between the destroyed work benches, I lashed out at random, hoping to be answered by some pained wail. I heard words on the edge, the panicked voices of Nadir and Christine. Couldn’t they see? I was saving them, from him! I just had to find him and shut his infernal mouth forever. Then everything would be alright again.

The shelf beside me careened over, wood snapping and breaking under an unseen weight. Toppling onto my side, I struggled to right myself, fighting against gravity. The pressure increased. Broken boards pinned across my chest.

“Stop it! Stop fighting me right now!”

I thrashed, trying to leverage my arms under the board that held me fast. I heard a grunt followed by a sudden surge of pain across my chest. The rough edge of the board pressed tightly against the healing bruised ribs. There was a wail of pain—but it was mine, not his.

“You asked for that!”

“Nadir, you’re hurting him!” Christine cried out. “Let him up!”

I opened my eyes to find Nadir dripping with sweat, leaning hard on the board as I panted for breath against the pressure. He shook his head roughly. “Not until he comes to his senses and drops that blade.”

She swooped down just a breath away, only to find Nadir’s strong arm pry her back. “Stay back, Christine. We’re in grave danger at the moment!”

“I should say you are!” I grunted, once more struggling against the weight. “Get off me! I have to stop him!”

“Who?” Nadir demanded.

The edge of the board rubbed fresh waves of pain into my raw ribs, leaving me to gasp for breath. “We are not alone! He has not fled here! Get off me!”

Christine’s eyes searched the rubble of my laboratory before gazing down upon me in confusion. “Who, Erik? There are only three of us here. Nadir, myself, and you.”

“I have to stop him!” I was trapped, unable to purchase much leverage with Nadir leaning hard upon me. The panic was beginning to rise.

“Oh, look how they care for you.” My voice mocked me once more. “Beaten like a disobedient dog.”

“Shut up!” I screamed out, punching the blade into the back of the fallen shelf.

He laughed, his figure dancing on the edges of the sconce light as he swirled the cloak. “Poor caged creature.”

With all my might, I slammed my hands into the board, rocking Nadir on his stubborn perch. The only result it earned me was the board falling harder against the bruised flesh. When the cry died in my throat, it extinguished the fight from me. Every breath grated healing flesh against bone, but still Nadir did not let up. He knew me better.

“You’re hurting him!” Christine sobbed as she pushed under Nadir’s guard. Tears fell upon me.

Taking a deep breath, Nadir eyed me steadily. “Erik, speak to me. Tell me what happened.”

“Let me breathe!” I writhed under the weight.

He bit off the words.“Tell me what happened.”

Pushing up as hard as I could on the board, I felt a slight relief. “I have to save you all — from him.”

“Him who?” Nadir cast a look about the room.

“Did you not see him?” Frantically I too searched the wreckage.

“No one is here.” Running a hand through my hair, Christine shook her head. Her eyes intense with worry. “Your laboratory is ruined, Erik. What ever brought you to do that?”

“Yes, Erik.” The voice played on my ears. “Tell her. Go on and tell her who you are trying to rid yourself of.”

Thrusting my head back I shouted. “Leave me alone!”

Laughter split the stunned silence. “Oh, she’ll like that response.”

“He is here!” I struggled to free myself once more. “Right there! Nadir, let me go! We are all in danger!”

“Erik.” He swallowed, his hand reached down and carefully plucked the blade from the board. He tossed it out of range. “Who are you talking about?”

“The Angel of Doom!”

Concern and sorrow intermingled in their shared gaze before Christine bent closer to me. “My love, that is impossible. No one was here but you.”

“I know it is me!” I sobbed, desperation throbbing in me. Why couldn’t they see it?

She began slowly, tentatively. Each word spoken as if to a child. “You were alone in here, my love. No one was in here with you, I promise. Yet you say you were fighting the Angel of Doom?”

Nadir continued. “How can that be when that Angel … was you?”

“It is me!” I pleaded. “It is! He’s here. Why can you not see him?”

“Why?” His voice replied. “Because I am not here.”

Holding my breath, I stared up into their terror stricken eyes, realization slowly sinking in. My laboratory was now a collection of broken boards and glass shards. Splatters of blood from half a dozen small cuts had rained over the entire room. The device I had been working on was nothing but a twisted pile of metal scattered across the floor.

My head fell back against the cold unyielding stone. “It was … all in my head.”

* * * * *

Miserably I stared into the fireplace in the study. Thin strips of linen dressed the various cuts and scrapes my tirade had inflicted on my hands. Fortunately, once the glass had been removed, nothing proved to be very deep. Running my bandaged fingers through my hair, I tried to free myself from the rude shock that still enveloped me.

“Erik.” The pressure of Christine’s hand on my shoulder startled me. My hands shot down to the edge of the couch ready to propel me forward as I stared up dumbly at a cup of hot tea in her other hand. “Easy, easy. I said your name at least three times. You didn’t seem to hear me. Take this, drink. Come back to yourself.”

Shakily I reached up for the delicate china cup. Absently I drank, tasting nothing. I only felt the progression of the hot liquid inside me. I had to stop shaking. I had to get control of myself. What the hell was wrong with me!

Taking the empty cup from my hands before I dropped it, Christine rubbed my shoulder. “Please Erik, tell us what happened.”

Dimly I became aware that Nadir sat across the room, his eyes scrutinizing my every wayward twitch. At that moment, that was constant.

Taking a deep breath, I hugged my arms to my chest and declared what I knew. “I told you. I swear I was not alone in the laboratory. There was another person in the room, the Angel of Doom. He seemed to be a younger version of myself. He spoke all in Persian, Nadir! Faultless, God damned Persian!” Closing my eyes, I didn’t mean to mutter aloud, but I did, “How was anyone able to put up with me back then? That penetrating voice!”

Nadir leaned forward, clearing his throat. “Tell me the truth, have you started using opium again?”

My eyes shot wide open. “Hell no! Do you really think I would desire to suffer the indignity of withdrawal more than once?”

His eyes narrowed. “If not opium, please tell me it’s not morphine.”

“I am no longer living with a death wish!” I declared, tearing back both my sleeves to reveal the bare flesh. The only evidence of that vice was old and hardly visible.

Christine’s hand reached down to collect the cufflinks my swift motions had dislodged.

Nadir was not finished with his interrogation. “Anything else you’d like to tell me you might be using that would cause this?”

Rubbing my forehead, I pondered. The sleeping draught had never triggered anything like this. I had used it for years without any incident. The only other recent addition was the tincture for a headache … or two … or three … hrm. There had been quite a few of those lately. Could it just be from the stress? The herbal concoction was mild, nothing that could have caused this. Besides—if I was honest with myself, this started before I even drank the tincture.

With a shrug of my shoulders I replied, “No. Nothing that would cause something of this nature.”

“What nature?” Christine prodded.

“Hallucinations. Visions. Voices.” My own voice trembled as I began to wonder what the hell was going on.

Securing my hand in hers, she coaxed me to meet her worried gaze. “How long, Erik? How long has this been happening?”

When did this all start? How long ago was it really? I swallowed deeply as I remembered the first time I heard him. The shudder stole through me. “The nightmare … two months ago. At first it was only a dream. But then, then I began to hear it more frequently.”

Nadir cocked his head. “Before or after your fall?”

“Wait.” I sat up straighter, could it be that obvious that we missed it? “Nadir, did I hit my head?”

Christine’s eyes searched him hopefully.

“If you did, I saw no sign of it.”

I edged forward on the couch. “But it still could have happened. I mean, you were so concerned with the obvious injury to my ribs. If I had even a mild concussion, well, that could explain everything!” Headaches, strange visions, strange sounds, being haunted by a vile younger version of myself … sure, it made sense! “That has to be it!”

Her arms wrapped around me, lowering me back into the embrace of the couch. “Will it pass?”

“Yes.” I assured her and reached up to caress her cheek with my bandaged fingers. “Just some irregularities that should pass with time.”

The whisper came from behind me. “Great plan, just ignore me and I will go away.”

I jerked up far more hastily than I intended, sending Christine against the far arm of the couch with an alarmed cry. My wide eyes searched the room as I dug my fingers into the cushion. “Tell me you both heard that.”

As I gazed upon Nadir and Christine in turn, they both solemnly shook their heads.

“Damn it!” I shouted, dropping my head into my hands.

Cautiously Nadir stood and approached, leaving me to stare at his feet. “Tell me, Erik, how much sleep have you been getting?”

A non-committal sound escaped me.

He sighed, kneeling down with great care. “That’s it. You’re going to start sleeping more even if I have to drug you to do it.”

Inside my head he whispered, _Nothing more than a mewling child to them! Listen to how they plan on treating you. Like you are a toddler unfit to even dress himself._

“Leave me alone!” I bellowed.

When I opened my eyes, Nadir’s sad gaze penetrated me. “Were you saying that to me?”

Shamefully, I shook my head, unable to defend the outburst with any rational explanation. “There will be no need for you to drug me.” I pushed up from the couch, sliding past him. My steps carried me toward the bed chamber. “I will take it myself willingly only to shut that menacing little beast up. You will have to excuse me, I have had quite enough of this for one day.”

The sun had not even set as I stared at the vial in my hands, my body already beneath the covers. Sadly, I contemplated what should happen if this draught should become my new vice. I hated to lie unconscious to the world for so long, but I needed to banish this pest before his nagging drove my hands to something more than destroying my own property.

Tipping the vial up, I emptied it with one gulp. Lying back, I pulled the coverlet up and stared at the carved tester board above the four poster bed. I was going to have to get used to this view … again!


	25. Chapter Twenty-five

_ **Chapter 25** _

_ **** _

For the third morning in a row the sun rose before I did. Each day I had awoken to the rays of refracted sunlight blazing into the room. I wondered if Christine drew the heavy brocade curtains back with the intention of creating a cheery room for me… she couldn’t possibly have known how slowly my eyes took to adjust to the light. Of course, I suppose I could have told her. With a sigh I squinted in the morning light, wishing it had been an overcast rainy day. This wasn’t something altogether new. Years of lurking in a low light environment, shielded from daylight, had conditioned my eyes. It had been one of the many reasons I conditioned myself to sleep for short periods of time, rising before the sun to allow a gradual adjustment. The sleeping draught never had this effect before. Typically I would rest roughly eight hours, to wake up from a dreamless sleep. I was exceeding that amount of unconsciousness be several hours. Several hours I missed! The past days, as I shifted through the shattered remains of my laboratory, cataloging what could be repaired and what would need to be replaced, I began to suspect that the last batch of sleeping draught I had brewed must have been flawed. An ingredient too strong, or perhaps the batch was old enough to have concentrated itself within each vial. It did not matter, I had no choice but to take it until I could repair the laboratory sufficient to brew a new one.

Lying on my right side under the covers, I let my blurry gaze stare at Christine’s side of the bed. I knew she was no longer abed, having already begun her day. There was an odd shape on her pillow. Rubbing my eyes to clear them, I observed a familiar sight. One of my music boxes glittered where she had set it. The bejeweled golden clockwork nightingale perched upon his rose. At rest, the closed rose bud gleamed with its white opal petals. However, in the beak of the shimmering little bird a small piece of folded paper rested. As I plucked it from its messenger, I could tell that Christine had used a piece of paper from my draw. Her neat lettering filled the paper.

_Erik dear. Don’t be late to the Symphony Society’s rehearsal. Remember, you promised Damrosch you would try to return today. I am at the morning Oratorio rehearsal, in case it slipped your mind. Please promise me you will listen to your ribs to prevent further injury. I know how eager you are to resume activities as usual. I love you. Your Dearest Christine._

I chuckled, how incredibly sweet. Since that bad day, she had been watching me very carefully, trying not to reveal her intentions. I found it endearing. Snapping the paper between my fingers I watched it vanish in a puff of flame and smoke. My eyes shifted to the little nightingale who perched upon his thorny branch. Deliberately, I leaned over and stroked the golden throat. Instantly the mechanism activated and the bird began his insistent song. Leaning on one elbow, I observed the lifelike animations of the nightingale. His song evolved and intensified within each segment as he attempted to coax the rose to open her petals and turn to him.

But there were new notes … notes I had not placed within the mechanics. What was this?

I turned my head just in time as the real nightingale landed upon my raised knee. His head twisted and turned as he called out his vibrant song to the mechanical counterpart.

“Well, good morning to you.” I stayed as still as possible, trying not to startle him.

Flicking his tail, his eyes spared only a passing glance at me before he hopped down onto the coverlet and made his way in a little dance towards the automaton. The rose was opening, the opals sliding back to reveal the red garnets beneath … the white rose stained red by forbidden love. When the mechanical bird fell silent and still, my real visitor sat up straight, cocking his head with curiosity. Flapping his wings, he perched upon the rose’s thorny stem before bursting into a lusty tune. When there was no reply, he ducked his head, eyeing the silent bird with one eye and then the other.

Sliding my finger beneath the beak, I triggered the bird once more. The mechanism reset and the complex song began its cascade. In a remarkable chorus, the flesh nightingale poured his heart and soul out, joining his voice to my music.

Taking flight in mid song, he hovered over my head for a moment before I felt his tiny claws rest on my scalp. His weight was so slight, it almost didn’t register. Only the tiny prick of his claws as he hopped about betrayed his presence. His song ceased for a moment. A sting almost caused me to swat my head before the little nightingale fluttered back to the bejeweled rose stem. In his beak, a single strand of my silver hair.

“Ouch!” I rubbed where he had plucked it. “What are you planning on doing with that, my little Don Juan? Feather a love nest?”

He bobbed his head below the diligently singing automaton. My heart sank as I realized the cruel truth.

“Poor, poor little soul.” I sighed, my hand hovered just above the base of the automaton. “That bird will never truly sing for you. It is but a clever illusion, just gears and springs. I am sorry, my friend. Deeply sorry that you have been the victim of such deception.”

The performance having run its course, the room dashed into silence and the metal bird resumed his stony watch. Brushing his feathers against the metal breast, the real nightingale tried to coax this shimmering bird to take the strand from him.

I could take it no longer, cupping my hands around the tortured little bird, I was forced to pry his tiny claws from the branch as he protested.

“Shh, shh. That is enough.” Blocking the music box from his view, I watched as he cocked his head back and forth, beady eyes transfixed. “I once knew that feeling. You cannot coax affection from an automaton no matter how much you try. Do not break your heart in any vain attempts.”

My fingers stroked his little throat. As he relaxed into my hand, I opened my fingers and drew them over his back. He pushed up into each caress.

“Smooth out those ruffled feathers. There we are, my handsome little friend.” I started to hum a little snippet of melody he had once bestowed upon me in the study. In a trice, he added his voice to mine, singing gleefully. I admired his spirit. How easily he had overcome his painful folly. If only I had been so resilient ….

“Erik? Are you awake yet?” Nadir’s voice called out from the other room.

Startled into silence, the little bird darted a glance over his wing before taking flight out the open window.

Flinging back the covers, I leapt out of bed in pursuit. “Wait! Do not leave!” My hand stretched out beyond the sill, the daylight illuminating the pale skin of my bare arm.

“Erik?” Nadir stood in the door, his eyes widened as I lowered my arm and turned back inside. “Who were you talking to?”

Oh no! He must have thought … hastily I stuttered., “It was a bird! Honest! It was just a nightingale … it flew out the window when you scared him!”

Stiffly he shifted his gaze to the open window.

Darting to the coverlet, I plucked a plain brown feather from the fabric, holding it before the Persian triumphantly. “See? See? Here is the evidence there was a nightingale in this very room!”

He released the breath he had been holding. “Thank heavens!”

Dropping the feather on the nightstand, I put my mask on before grabbing my robe. “I promised you there would be full disclosure, did I not? Entirely too many hours I have been spending in slumber. Yes, it seems to have made a difference and lulled the little beast to his own sleep.” Eyeing Nadir I tied the sash about my waist. “But that is not why you have come up to my bedchamber.”

He held out an envelope without a word.

Snatching it from his hand, I grumbled. “Carnegie. What does he want now?” Tearing it open I skimmed the telegraph while translating the doublespeak.

“What is it?” Nadir asked as I frowned.

Sliding the letter back into the envelope, I swallowed. “He wants an update on how the studio tower project is coming.” Casting my eyes to the ceiling I confessed, “I honestly have no idea. What good fortune that I will be attending the Hall today. Looks as though the rehearsal will not be my only task.”

“Take care not to over do it.” Nadir chided.

“Yes, yes.” I muttered, shepherding him towards the door. “Thank you, Nursemaid.”

He was about to speak up as I closed the door on his face. “Erik!” His muffled voice broke through. “What are you doing now?”

“Meddling with the forces of evil—what do you think I am doing?” I snorted sarcastically. “Let go of the doorknob, Daroga! I am merely getting dressed for the rehearsal. You panic entirely too easily these days.”

* * * * *

Despite my better judgment, the month of October became a whirlwind of activity. Rotating between my construction sites I was forced to limit myself to dictating from the ground level, not risking the chance of stepping onto the scaffolding. There had been no recent visible suspicious activity, a sign that left me glancing over my shoulder nearly constantly. Aside from that fact, though I was not being honest in my disclosures Nadir and Christine, sporadically the unexpected whispers reduced me to spin around in sudden alarm. It was becoming more difficult to conceal the effect. More than once, I failed to suppress my shouted reply in the presence of one of the workmen. It annoyed me to no end that it was impossible to completely control my faculties. Every contract my company had taken had fallen so far behind schedule in my absence there was no chance at making up for lost time. It had not been for lack of effort on my crews, they had been toiling away earnestly. The majority of the tasks that were incomplete required my attention. At the Hall, resuming my duties as a musical tutor and concertmaster around the frantic days at the construction sites, I found my temper strained to the breaking point.

Damrosch had been pressing the Symphony Society hard to learn my composition. In my absence, most of it had gone astonishingly well. The rehearsals within my presence … that was another story. Driven to the brink of exhaustion, my tongue snapped out less than elegant remarks about his approach to directing some parts. One especially irritable day, without any preamble, I seized the baton from his hand and took his place on the podium to the shocked eyes of every musician. The remainder of the rehearsal I staunchly refused to allow the conductor his place back, working through various segments I felt he had misinterpreted. Some hours afterward, as I lie in bed waiting for the sleeping draught to chase me into oblivion, I realized what I had done.

I was fortunate that Damrosch had an understanding and remarkably forgiving spirit. The next rehearsal, he did not acknowledge my rude behavior, despite the sideways glances of the other musicians. Instead he simply directed the movements to my corrections without remark. In his office afterward, when I tried to apologize, he only turned the conversation to the progress of my contracts … he understood. He excused my rude behavior, even though I had not.

One of our most prominent concert series was approaching rapidly. The holidays always provided the community with the excuses for excessive entertainment and festivities. Carnegie Hall was expected to provide the cream of the crop, just as had been intended from the conception of the Hall. Each morning, as I dragged myself out of bed to the punishing light of the sun, I wondered dismally how I was going to manage everything I needed to do. November’s icy gales put a stop to any external construction, halting some projects entirely, while restricting me to carving inside the buildings. Ordinarily I would have laid my chisel and mallet to rest for the season. This year I could not afford to.

Grey storm clouds hung low in the sky promising an early storm as I gazed out the window of my study. Glancing at the calendar I noted Charles would be coming home for a short break soon. Too long had passed with words left unspoken.

_Erik, sooner or later you will come to see. You cannot deny me forever._

* * * * *

I heard the carriage arrive, the sound of horse hooves in the slush on the street. Christine squeezed my arm before she drifted off downstairs to greet him, a somber expression in her eyes. If the boy thought this would be an entirely joyous homecoming … well. Pacing over to the fireplace, I turned the logs with a poker, feeling a surge of heat as the sparks tumbled in the air.

Voices carried up the stairs. “Mother, it’s been a long trip. Have you seen the weather out there? I am tired and more than just a little cold.”

“You can warm up by the fire.” She replied firmly.

“I just want to go to my … room.” He stopped, just outside the study door. I watched as Christine reached through, took his hand and pulled the boy over the threshold. Charles’s eyes instantly fixed themselves to the floor. “Oh hell … why this now?”

“Because it is time.” I replied with enormous restraint. A moment later a servant I had previously given instructions to hovered in the doorway. I beckoned him to enter, a rare invitation into my private chambers. In his hands he held the case I had requested be retrieved and delivered from the carriage. Handing the case to me with a bow, he waited only long enough for my hand gesture to dismiss him.

Charles’s eyes darted to the instrument case briefly before he attempted unsuccessfully to follow the servant. Christine had shut the study door, cutting off his escape. “Father, I can explain.”

My fingers undid the latches painfully slowly in the silence. Extracting the silver flute from the cream velvet lining, I cradled it in my hands to study the lines of this instrument my son had fashioned into my enemy. It was a masterwork. Beautiful and well balanced. The valve hinges were of superior quality, each valve cover lined with a red felt pad to seal the air. By its weight I knew it was not truly made out of pure silver, it was the traditional silver-plated brass. Though it showed evidence of having been played extensively, this instrument had sustained no more than two years of use.

Closing my hand around the flute, I pointed at my son with it. “I am waiting.”

Swallowing hard, he held out his trembling hands from across the room. He cast a frantic glance to Christine who stood wordlessly by the door, holding firm to the knob. She made no move to come to his aid. “Please!” Charles begged me. “Don’t break it! It took everything I could scrape together to purchase it! Mister McClenachan thought you had given me the money with your blessing. It was the only way I could get my hands on the flute!”

“You never thought to ask me?” I tapped the instrument lightly against my hand.

A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead which he tensely wiped away. “I knew you would say no.”

_Oh yes, because you are a heartless monster._

My eyes closed against the cruel whisper. “I never dictated what instruments you might pursue, Charles. I introduced you to the piano, which you excelled at. I painstakingly taught you the basics of the violin— ”

He cried out, heat rising to his cheeks, “Which I could never hope to make any grand achievement on compared to you! I had no chance of ever sounding like anything but a clumsy student tripping over his own fingers in your presence!”

From the door, Christine commanded my attention as I caught her pensive gaze. Her hand drifted up to grasp the lacy collar of her dress. The prediction, her own suspicion shared with me some time ago, had come to fruition. I said nothing as my eyes returned to the boy, his breaths now heaving as he fought back the tears I could see threatening to spill.

“I had to find something … some way that I could do this on my own! Without you!” He turned around, grabbing handfuls of hair and tugging them to their ends. “You don’t understand, this had to be my dream! My accomplishment! Something I had achieved!”

The instrument grew heavier in my hands. Soundlessly I came up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder as he stiffened. “This dream … am I to be forbidden from being proud of you?”

He froze in the silence for a long time. Sleet pelted the windowpane in a steady cadence as I waited for his reply. “You … you were proud of me?”

My voice was soft, but no matter how I tried, I could not entirely banish the lingering hurt. “Yes Charles, I was. I had sought you out to tell you when you … well, no sense in mincing words, when you broke my heart.”

His head hung lower as he grasped his sides with white knuckled hands. “They know who you are, Father. My classmates, Dario told them last year. It never stops—endless rounds of remarks about how masterful of a violinist you are and how no one alive can match your skill. Talk of the mask comes, they ask over and over again why you wear it! Not only the bejeweled nightingale mask for the performances but the ones you wear all the time off the stage! They want to know why!”

My hand slid from his shoulder. So this was what my reputation brought my son, both sides of it. The idea that he would always be inadequate by comparison as well as the subject of ridicule on my behalf. “What … what have you told them?”

“That it wasn’t their business.” He murmured heatedly. “It barely holds the questions off for even half a day. But what else can I tell them? That my father is severely deformed?”

I sighed, studying my bent reflection in the silver flute. “If you did, they would only press you as to how to glimpse me unmasked. Once more nothing would sate curiosity … how repulsively familiar.”

“I just wanted to achieve something that would stand alone.” He sobbed into his hands. “I just wanted a skill I could call my own and I knew that you couldn’t play any wind instruments.”

“Because of my deformity.” I remarked, deflated. “And so, the music I so lovingly shared with you became a shameful barrier between us.”

Turning halfway, he shook his head. “Not at first … it wasn’t supposed to! I just … I didn’t know how … I was stupid in front of them! It came out of me in the heat of a moment and with so many witnesses, I couldn’t take it back.”

Placing the flute into his hands I turned from him, crestfallen. My steps carried me to lean upon my piano. “One day you will come to realize a lesson no one can teach you. The power of the spoken word — to hurt and to heal. Loyalties are often forged on the character of one’s statements. Charles, I am no stranger to careless words escaping me. But a gentleman takes pains to rectify what a rash tongue betrays.”

“I wish I could take it back.” He twisted his hands around the polished flute.

My eyes gazed out at the dreary, white washed streets. I wanted to forgive him. I needed to forgive him. The words would not come. Taking it back would not be enough. He needed to find a way on his own to rebuild the bridge he had burned.

“Father?” His voice pleaded in my silence.

With a shake of my head, I whispered out, “You are dismissed.” It wasn’t what I had wanted to say.

Quietly, with painful slowness, I heard Charles pick up the flute case and tread toward the door. It opened and shut before I heard her footsteps across the rug. She embraced me tightly, breathing into my ear, “It is a start, Erik dear. This won’t be easy for either of you … but it must be done.”


	26. Chapter Twenty-six

_ **Chapter 26** _

_ **** _

Puffs of breath instantly froze in the air before me. The shadows cast by the lantern light once more made it difficult for even my eyes to see the faint guide marks in the great room I was working on inside the Holt mansion. My chisel bit away slowly, making scant progress in the freezing vault. How it drew me back to another place … another time.

_You remember … another angel, equally as savage._

I cursed aloud in Persian in reply to the vile whisper, knowing I was alone within the work site. The more sensible men had gone home to their warm hearths.

“Angel of doom, angel of music … was there really any difference?” Frost clung to the icy voice no longer restricted to inside my head. I knew if I glanced to the side I would see him sitting on the work bench.

If I ignored him, he would go away! If I did not acknowledge him, he would cease to exist!

A cold hand pressed upon my shoulder. Instinctively I swung the mallet only to see Grimaudo leap back. “Monsieur Erik! Please, I did not mean to frighten you! I had forgotten to secure my tools and returned to find a lantern lit. I had’t realized it was you still at work.”

I leaned against the wall still catching my breath, watching it materialize before the wintry breeze stole it away.

“Brr!” The foreman hugged himself. “Cold as a tomb in here! Not likely to get warmer the rest of this November, Sir. If you will forgive me for saying, I think the season has ended.”

Grimly, I rubbed a hand over the stonework. The edges I had just worked already were encased in ice crystals. “I … I will call the men back when the weather breaks in the spring.”

Picking up the chisel I had dropped, I slipped my tools back into their bag. Grimaudo patted his own tool bag as he strode for the door. “Wishing you a warm winter, Monsieur! I imagine that you have a fine celebration around the holidays at that beautiful mansion of yours.”

Picking up the lantern, I shrugged. “Not typically. The majority of my time is spent at Carnegie Hall performing over the holiday season. Which is how I prefer it. See you in the spring.”

Side by side we walked in silence through the main door of the mansion. I threw my pack over Faust’s shoulders before leading him to the gate. The chill of the metal chain and lock that secured the work site in our absence, bit into my fingers. At long last, I mounted my horse and guided him south through the falling snow.

Everything was oddly muffled in the winter. A strange absence of sound filled the deserted streets under the lamplight. Dismally, I watched the snowflakes fluttering down to land on my cashmere cloak. Was there a point in returning home tonight?

Christine had taken Charles to a concert, they would be returning soon, cheerily discussing the musical scores. I knew Nadir had a rare gathering with some acquaintances. I was not in the mood for any sort of revelry. Having been forced to still my chisel for the remainder of the year left far too much work unfinished.

“Poor poor, Erik. All alone once more in the world. How does it feel to be abandoned? Rather like before when the world scorned you?”

Urging Faust forward, I refused to reply to the taunting voice.

“Just wait.” Under the lamplight, a shadowed figure stood, gleaming eyes in the darkness. “Just wait … the angel’s time is coming.”

I huffed a breath, the indignant puff lingering in the air as Faust carried me through it. “The angel of doom was buried long ago on a road by the Caspian sea. Shows what you know.”

A strange weight tapped against me, reaching into my jacket pocket I pulled out the silver necklace. The snake’s eye winked at me menacingly in the dim light.

_Did he really? You and I both know different!_

Ramming it back into my pocket, I did not deign to reply to the spectral figure of my mind. I now knew what I would spend the winter achieving — finding a way to rid myself of this pest!

Faust’s head bolted up as his hooves stomped to a halt in the frozen mire of the street. I listened, craning my ears. We had both heard something! Another sharp crack broke through the muffled corridors of the city. By the reverberation, it sounded in the vicinity of my mansion.

Hastily, I pushed Faust’s fleet hooves toward home, slipping as we rounded the corner by Central Park. A swift shadow vanished south onto 7 th  avenue. I would have pursued him save for the sight in front of my mansion. A man lay in the rutted street beside a Morgan gelding. Not just any Morgan, that was MerhzAd.

“Nadir!” I barely waited for Faust to decelerate before dismounting. I found the Persian crouched, grasping his arm rather than lying down. That had been an illusion of the deepening snow. Beside him lay his broken walking stick. “What happened? Are you alright?

Panting, he looked up at me, his eyes wide with shock. “I was coming home … this shadow came out of the darkness. He … he was armed. Tried to take me. Put a gun to my head.”

Reaching forward, I was about to tear open his sleeve when he shook his head. “I wasn’t shot. We wrestled and the gun went off as I fell off MerhzAd and hit my arm. The injury wasn’t enough to stop me from breaking my stick over his right arm. He missed on his next shot. I heard your hoof beats soon after and he mounted his horse and fled.”

Reaching down I helped him to his feet. He looked steady enough. “Are you able to ride?”

Flexing his hand, he nodded. “I think so … Erik, what are you thinking of doing? We should go to the police.”

Sliding back up onto Faust, I was already observing the fresh hoof prints in the snow. “Get on MerhzAd, I will need you to identify your assailant.”

He hesitated, only long enough to follow my gaze. “Dear Allah! No you won’t, Erik! You promised me!”

“Get on your horse and follow, or I do this alone.” Without further remark, I turned Faust down 7th, his hooves pounding the frozen ground in pursuit! The winter storm had broken late, not long after the sun had set. Very few horses had traveled the roads, making the trail very easy to follow. South … down into the Five Points neighborhood. I had a sinking feeling as the trail came to an abrupt end at an address I knew in the nearly abandoned block of buildings. Herr Frederich Reiniger!

* * * * *

“You are a damned fool.”

Reiniger spun around to find me standing behind him. He dropped the ice pack he had been holding against right arm onto the floor. Shocked beyond belief he glanced back at the open doorway where I knew Nadir stood. “The door! I locked it behind me!”

I flashed a thin piece of metal before his eyes. “No simple door can restrain me. Now, would you explain to me why you tried to assault my friend?”

Desperately he fumbled for the gun in his pocket. Foolishly, he had used his right hand. The fingers were too limp to grasp the weapon, casting it to the floor.

My foot kicked it away, back towards Nadir. I heard him pick up the gun and unload it as I addressed the unfortunate man. “Reiniger. It does appear as though your injury will limit your ability to play. Poor, poor fellow.” I reached out and grasped his sleeve, twisting his arm painfully as I bared the black and blue injury. “My, well, that does not appear to be broken … yet.” I glared. “Answer my question!”

“Ahh! Don’t twist it like that!” He shrieked. “I was supposed to take him! Alright? I was supposed to apprehend him and take him as a hostage!”

“Why?” I inquired.

“You’ll never find out now!” He hissed as he tried to pry my fingers off his wrist. “You won’t find the others either.”

“Others?” Nadir took a step into the room. “What others?”

Reiniger gave a pained laugh, narrowing his eyes as he pointed up at me. “You’ll never find them! Not in time.”

My heart stopped for a moment. Could it be?

_Who else … who else, Erik? What time was the concert supposed to be over? What time were Charles and Christine supposed to be home? I suppose you can take your time and just coax it out of him over tea … but is there time enough to take the soft approach?_

My grip tightened, causing him to writhe. “Where are my wife and son?”

He buried his face in his arm. “I’ll never tell! They would kill me if I told you!”

I wrenched his arm, hearing him scream out. “They who?”

“Never!”

Releasing his arm, I bent down and flicked open his violin case. The old inferior violin lay inside. “These strings are capable of music. So many notes … not all produced by a bow.”

_Oh look, catgut strings. We know what those are good for, do we not?_

The sound of Nadir swallowing filled the room. My intentions must have been written in my body language. “Erik … no more than you must.” With that, he turned and shut the door.

Lifting the instrument high into the air, I bashed it against the wall, freeing the body from the neck. Reiniger leapt back at the sound, staring at the broken instrument in shock. “My … my violin!”

Pulling out the thick string, I smiled grimly. “Do not worry, you shall never play it again anyway.” Shoving him into a chair I wrenched both his wrists together behind him, wrapping the catgut tightly around both in a secure binding. He struggled, rivulets of blood dribbling down his fingers.

_Time is ticking away … loosening his tongue may prove too lengthy a task._

Plucking another string from the violin’s carcass I held it up before him with a slow smile. “You will tell me what I want to know, Reiniger. Where are my wife and son or this will get uncomfortable.”

“They’ll be dead before you learn, dead before you reach them!” He twisted in the bonds. “The great scheme is working!” He laughed, the sound of a man who knows his fate is sealed. “My only task now was to keep you occupied.”

_You cannot let them win, come on, you know I am still inside of you! Let me out … let me interrogate him! The answers will pour forth! You know what manner of strength twisted catgut has. Use it!_

Without a word, I moved behind Reiniger. Sliding the strand around his left pinky finger, I observed his confused struggle as he tried to look over his shoulder. “Wait … what are you doing with that?”

A calmness washed over me. A familiar numbness of a by-gone era that created a barrier between me and the rest of the human race. I could have been stringing a violin instead of about to … well, he was going to find out. Holding the string in place I leaned forward. “You have one last chance to answer my question before I render the potential of you ever playing a full chord again entirely impossible.”

“How wou — Ahh!” The word was cut short as I gave the thin string a savage series of twists. As he had not answered my question, I kept turning. Again and again and again. The string could only go so far before — pop! Reiniger’s bloodcurdling scream rent the air, but it did not stop my progression. I brought to mind every time he had pestered me in rehearsals, every challenging sneer he had concealed from Damrosch, every instance he had made it seem like I was a paranoid wreck in public. His vile deception distilled into every turn of the string as it slowly severed the flesh of the dislocated digit. The remaining tendons ground and snapped as the string produced a different kind of music. At last the bloody digit fell free to the floor, the string remaining as a tourniquet on the hand itself.

Holding the finger before his eyes, I knew the feeling of that maniacal smile upon my face. I knew he would see it beneath the cut of the mask as I held up the prize before his stunned gaze. Sweat dripped into his eyes but he dared not blink. Oh how easily the strong could be broken. I spoke calmly in measured phrases. “Now that I have given you something to think about, I will ask again for an answer. The longer you delay, the less of you there will be to bury.” I tossed the digit into the burning fire of the hearth.

He shivered as he watched me removed the next string from the instrument. “Oh God! No! Please no!”

“This will only get worse, Reiniger.” I remarked, kneeling down to wrap the string around his ring finger. “Once more … you start to speak, it will stay my hand. Refuse … ” I started twisting the string as he writhed trying to escape and only slicing into his wrists for his efforts. “If you think this will stop with the next string, well, have you forgotten the replacement strings in your case? You will tell me everything, of that I have no doubt. You will determine when this stops.”

He threw his head back in a wail of pain … Snow still fluttered outside the window, the beast inside flexed his claws, waiting.

_You will never doubt me again!_


	27. Chapter Twenty-seven

_ **Chapter 27** _

_ **** _

Slamming the door behind me, I tore down the steps to find Nadir in the corridor, seated at the top of the next flight and covering his ears. When he felt the vibrations of my hasty footfalls, he looked up. My hand reached down in my flight, dragging him up by his shoulder.

“We have to hurry!”

Lurching after me, he called out. “Tell me he relented quickly so you could be merciful!”

“That deceitful wretch deserved no mercy!” I snapped. “He will live a little longer for his pains before the blood loss takes him. No one comes to this area without purpose, no one will hear his waning cries. I had been right, the man had been hired to get close to me. To become a thorn in my side and distract me from a greater threat.”

“A greater threat?” He panted as we dashed out of the building to mount the horses.

“Not important at the moment.” Turning Faust towards the Bowery, I called over my shoulder. “We need to get to the house where the dead wait.”

Struggling to catch up, he shouted out. “What are you talking about? Where the dead wait for what?”

“Interment!” The temperature was steadily falling, well below freezing. How long had they been enclosed! My heart pounded against my chest. The rattle of the tools within the bag on Faust’s neck were like a clock marking the time I had left. This couldn’t be happening! Don’t let me be too late with the only action left to be their burials!

The horses’ hooves threw the flurried snow into the air as we drove further and further through the dark streets, at last coming to the locked inner gate on 2 nd  st. Dismounting Faust, I hit the gate with both hands hoping it would admit me into New York Marble Cemetery. But the lock held fast.

“Curse the seven levels of hell!” I roared. It was only the work of a moment with the shard of metal in my fingers, but it was a moment I couldn’t bare to spare.

Snatching Faust’s reins, I pulled the resisting horse through the passageway into the cemetery, floundering through the deepening snow that grabbed greedily at each step.

In the corner it stood. The small rough stone chamber known as the Dead-House. Even in the darkness, I observed something different. The small barred windows had been covered by blocks of stone. That was hardly the most alarming sight. The wooden doorway was entirely concealed by a solid slab of thick stone I could not possibly hope to shift in its entirety, even with Faust! There was nothing here to use as a crane! There were no tracks in the snow, leading me to conclude with horror that they had been entombed before the storm began hours ago.

“Christine! Charles! Answer me!” I shouted, stumbling toward the door. Pounding my fists against the stone I listened, hoping for a reply.

Nothing.

“Erik.” Nadir stood back in the middle of the cemetery, shivering in the snow. “There is no way you can move that stone.”

“No! I cannot be too late!” I beat upon the blockage, the metal lock pick striking the stone. The sound … dimly I turned to look at the pick as it dawned on me. “I do not have to move it! Not all of it!”

Darting toward Faust, I flung open the bag and retrieved the mallet and a hefty chisel. Trudging through the snow I fell against the stone, striking it with the metal edge of the tool. I listened, again and again … come on, where was it! There had to be a flaw! Every stone has a flaw! It had to have a flaw!

“Erik, what are you doing?”

“Silence!” There! One more tap and I confirmed it. A large, hidden weakness. Setting the chisel at the heart, I took a deep breath and hefted the mallet over my left shoulder. With all my strength I drove the mallet down and into the brittle crack, cleaving the stone into two vertical chunks. Still blocking the door, I had to get at least one half out of the way. Fetching the long length of rope from Faust, I hauled him over toward the door, panting out, “Nadir! Get over here and help me!”

There was a gap between the stone and edge of the frame. Slipping the rope around the top heavy portion, we secured it to Faust and urged him to pull at an angle I trusted would leave him out of range of the debris. The stone rocked, once … twice … three times as he fought against the massive weight.

“Come on!” I grunted, pulling frantically. “Fall, damn it!”

With a mighty crash, the stone toppled over into the snow, cracking into pieces. Wasting no time, I at once took my chisel against the hinges of the now exposed wooden door. Striking as hard as I could I forced the metal tool between the hinge and the oak beneath, prying until I heard the telltale groan.

This was taking too long! Discarding the tools, I backed up taking a running start before I threw myself against the wooden door which splintered off the weakened hinges. My path left me tumbling into the room amidst the debris. The faint light from outside drifted in to outline Christine and Charles huddled together on the raised slab typically reserved for corpses in the ice rimmed chamber.

On my knees, I stared up into the shaft of light above them … hoping, praying. Please! A puff of breath! Something, anything! It felt like an eternity as I held my own breath until my lungs ached.

“No!” The single word echoed against the walls, a cry of pure anguish that did not even resemble a human voice. Clawing my way up the slab, I threw myself over their huddled bodies. Wordless sobs shattered the chill in the air.

This could not be happening! They could not have been taken from me in this cold-blooded manner. If only I had warned Christine, told her of the unspoken threats, told her my injury had not been an accident!

“I am so sorry!” I muttered helplessly.

A faint shudder trembled beneath me. I felt a hand brushing against my chest. In a panic I pushed myself up to find Charles’s eyes opening slowly, blinking up at me as he was drawn out of the stupor. Huddled around his mother, I now detected the warmth their bodies greedily suppressed in their cores. There was a pulse! In both of their wrists.

Hastily I tore off my cloak and wrapped it around the three of us, letting what little warmth my own body could supply be captured there. Slowly, Charles began to move his stiff limbs a little more. Breathing steadily, Christine remained motionless but still with a chill to her flesh.

“Hold on, just hold on, my love!” I whispered, kissing her frigid cheek.

Nadir stumbled through the debris, his shadow cast over us from the filtered light. Wordlessly, he removed his own cloak and sealed the gap left by my cloak.

“They will be alright,” my voice cracked with uncertainty. In one arm I held my shivering son, in the other my wife.

“Father.” Charles voice rasped. “Heat rises.”

“Yes.” I nodded, rubbing a hand through his hair. “You remembered. My wise son! You remembered.”

“Erik.” Nadir came around where he could see Christine. “We need to get them to warmth, take them home.”

Shaking my head firmly, I locked eyes with him. “They cannot go home. Not yet. They know where I live. My home is not safe.”

His eyes widened. “What else did you compel that man to tell you?”

Gently rubbing warmth back into my wife and son, I glanced distractedly up. “A collection of names with a distinctive flare to them. Tell me Nadir, does Maitham, Bijan, and Vahid strike any familiarity with you?”

His jade eyes widened! His mouth moved wordlessly for a few moments before he shook his head frantically. “Erik, you know Persian wrath! If they know who you once were and have cause to seek vengeance … ”

“Clearly they do.” I replied grimly. “The names bore no great significance to me, Daroga. If they are connected to the Persian court after all this time … well, it has been roughly forty years to have carried that grudge. This is not going to end well.”

Carefully, I helped Charles from the table and guided him to Nadir for support. “Charles, can you balance on a horse with Nadir?”

He nodded slowly. “I think so.”

“Good.” Lifting up Christine, I kept her bundled in my cloak. “Then let us be swift.”

“Where are we going?” Nadir helped Charles navigate the rubble.

Once we all emerged into the swirling snow of the cemetery, I called out. “Damrosch’s house is the closest, safest place I can think of. We need to hurry if I am to intercept these miscreants.”

“Are you mad?” Nadir protested as he helped the shivering boy up on his horse. “Erik, if they intend to kill you—”

It was no easy feat, but I managed to use a large piece of stone to help me mount Faust while I supported Christine. Nestled against me now, I held her close to my chest feeling her steadfast heartbeat. Good girl, keep fighting my love! I’ll get you to warmth shortly. “Not if I kill them first. Not a word, Nadir! You are far too familiar with your own culture to believe this can end any other way!”

Not waiting for a reply, I snapped the reins and drove Faust into the swirling winter mess. The streets were empty as we careened north as swiftly as the horses could manage us with our unsteady burdens.

The lights shined in the windows of Damrosch’s house as I dropped off of Faust into the snow, Christine clutched in my arms. Nadir stumbled along close behind, supporting Charles. My hands occupied, I kicked at the door.

A servant opened the door only to have it shoved roughly into her face. “Damrosch!” I called out completely ignoring the stunned maid. “Damrosch, please be home!”

His shadow carried out from his music room before he rounded the corner in complete surprise. “Good heavens! Erik! What brings you here at this hour?” His eyes darted back and forth between the strange sight that filled his foyer. His wife lingered in the hall, shock on her features as she beheld our unexpected presence. I had no doubt that, as a consequence of the recent events, my attire had been considerably disheveled.

“It is a terribly long story I do not have the time to tell!” I held my precious wife so he could see her better. “This is not over, please just trust me in this! There is no time to explain. Christine and Charles have been exposed to extreme cold. Warm them up by the fire. Let them rest. I will return when I can.”

Damrosch waved a frantic hand and a few servants came forward, one taking Christine from my arms. My cloak slid from her unconscious figure. Once she was carried from the room, I swung the cloak over my shoulders and turned to Nadir. “Stay with them. Keep them safe!”

Without a backward glance, I started to descend the front steps, a plan already forming in my mind when my progression was stopped by a hand closing on my arm. I turned around to find myself eye to eye with the old Persian.

“Erik … ” He swallowed, his eyes boring into me. “You are correct. I know how this will end. I am too familiar with the culture to foolishly believe otherwise.” Placing his hands upon both my shoulders, he blinked slowly, taking a breath to build up the courage. “I release you from your promise to me all those years ago … just end this and do not leave Christine a widow.”

Reaching up, I extracted his hand in my firm grasp. Wordlessly I turned from him, dropping down the steps to mount Faust. I never looked back … for in his eyes I felt my resolve weakening. I did not relish what I had to do, but part of me knew there was no escaping this fate.


	28. Chapter Twenty-eight

_ **Chapter 28** _

_ **** _

The wind howled through the corridors of the unfinished Ballard mansion. Bare walls with open window frames were boarded for the season. Multiple storied sections, some of which had been completed with roofing. The building was currently a mass of twisting passageways and rooms. Since the conception of this pox upon my architectural career, I had often wondered why the project had continued to morph at the perpetual requests of the client. Now I knew why. The half hooded lantern in my hand cast shadows on the partially defined elements, on a creation with the sole intention of driving me to a state of exhausted distraction. The true client behind the commission had never intended for it to be completed.

_Bravo for Ballard. That was quite an act he pulled off portraying a real client. How many times did he relentlessly pursue you to the point of distraction. But that was the whole point. The misdirection so you’d never see it coming. Good thing that Reiniger believed you would spare him if he started to talk. Remarkable that he told you everything._

As far as I was concerned, this place was now complete. Complete enough to serve my purpose. Extinguishing the lantern, I set it down quietly upon the work bench. My eyes rapidly adapting to the dim light, I lingered deep within the shadows, wreathed in the icy cloud of my breath. The chisel was a leaden weight in my hand as the venom of my anger burned within my veins, banishing the effects of the cold wind that buffeted my cloak.

_Nice work on that petulant rat, Reiniger. I must commend you for a flare I had thought you had lost when the world softened you. Perhaps you are not a lost cause._

These scheming vermin had plagued me for longer then I had been aware, tearing down my empire brick by brick as they manipulated a series of complex business interactions to leave me staggering. Secretly, I admired them for their ambition. However, I could not ignore the fact they had very nearly brought their plan to fruition. Christine and Charles had been in grave danger, even one more hour of delay … I shuddered at the image of their bodies bathed in pale blue. So very close to death! My beloved wife and son. My reason for living had very nearly been torn from this earth. Their importance to me had not been the only close call, Nadir had been another nail they had tried to hammer into my coffin.

_They failed in that one, because they under-estimated the old Daroga. Fortunate for you. However … his life was not the only one that gun had aimed at, was it …_

“Wallbeck.” The chisel shifted in my trembling hand. Embracing it like a stake, I imagined my hand plunging it into the throat of the voice who had commanded the violinist’s death.

_Yes. Yes. Reiniger pulled the trigger, he told you enough under your duress. However it was all part of the plan so he could watch over your shoulder in the orchestra. Not only that … he was not the only one! Young, sweet Flanagan. What a delicious little move that was! Never suspected her hand with the poison, now did you! What good fortune that it was not your finger that found the venom. Be serious, Erik, do you have it in you to carry this out? Turn the key, unlock the door … I will do it for you._

I closed my eyes, fighting to keep my breathing even and silent. My ears were straining, listening for the stray approach of a foot crunching in the snow outside or words spoken in a false sense of safety. I needed my wits about me and the whispered voice in my head was not helping one bit.

Maybe _he_ was right, maybe all I needed to do was let _him_ out.

No! Could I live with the hell that would unleash upon this world? I had locked him up years ago for a reason. Yet … could I really do this? I was not that beast anymore. Even though there had been threats to my loved ones, I felt my hand trembling at the thought of consciously killing another man in cold blood. Back down that harsh road again … I would not be the same.

_Let me out, Erik. I don’t care about the burden. I promise, I’ll behave._

Maybe … maybe if I just opened the door a little. Just enough to do what must be done.

_Yes … that’s it. Come on, turn the key and let me out. I’ll make them vanish into the darkness … I’ll make everyone vanish into the darkness._

The crisp snow outside the window crunched underfoot. A series of three patterns shuffled through before I heard their steps enter what would have become the foyer. Three. So, what Reiniger had laid out was indeed true. I felt my heart pounding against my chest. If I went through with this I could never go back again. Stalking in the darkness, I was a mere shadow haunting the upper story.

_It begins … turn the key before it is too late._

“Bijan.” The tallest of the figures pulled back the black hood to reveal the olive skinned complexion of the Persian race. As the other two men dropped their hoods, my suspicions were confirmed. These were the three who had been behind everything. Men, who by their weathered appearance, I assumed to be roughly half a century old. That would mean they had been mere boys during my days in the court. Speaking in a heavy Persian accent, the man continued. “Did you remember to tell that thug to meet us here?”

The man with the scar on his face bobbed his head in reply, rather reminiscent of a pigeon. “Not directly, Vahid. I had that violinist tell him when he delivered the location of where to secure the hostages.”

“You mean the bodies.” Vahid looked down his nose disdainfully. “You were supposed to speak with him directly, why did you disclose that much to one man? No one is supposed to know more then they need to! Idiot!”

Bijan was unable to escape the cuffing blow to his ear. “Sorry! I thought with the weather turning, time was of the essence. I had searched for hours this morning to find the man! When I came across Reiniger, he informed me he knew where to find him. What harm could it do?”

Glaring down at them from my hidden vantage point, I suppressed a laugh. What harm? Well … that hasty little mistake left a vital thread allowing me to unravel the whole affair.

“Even if he figured it out, there is no chance that monster will have time to change his fate.” The last man, the one I assumed must be Maitham remarked dryly. “He’s an old relic after all these years. After everything we put him through, a mere breeze would blow him over.”

A gust of wind howled through the corridors catching my cloak and snapping the fabric with a loud whip-like crack. I remained stalk still, watching them all freeze and turn their fearful eyes towards my hiding place in the shadows. They could not see me where I crouched behind a half finished wall.

Releasing a low laugh, Maitham crossed his arms over his chest. “There are drop cloths, must have been the wind playing with one of those.”

“All the same,” Bijan murmured, his eyes still wide and searching. “I don’t want to be here any longer than we must. This place feels so … odd.”

Vahid fingered the hilt of a blade. “Patience. We just need to trim the last of these threads. It has been a long four decades, waiting to avenge the fate the Angel of Doom beset upon us when he slaughtered our fathers. Remember why we have gone to such pains. By Allah, when that creature murdered our fathers, he destroyed our chances of a future! Tortured and tormented, that infidel will pay for his crimes!”

_They called you … they have summoned you … winged death, the Angel of Doom! How long will you make them wait? Open the door!_

Creature. Monster. My hand grasped the silver uroboros that now hung around my neck. The shimmering scales linked in an endless twisted chain … immortal, the beast devoured itself in an act of alchemical reconstruction. My pulse quickened at the contact, thundering within me as a numbness spread through me. I knew my heart now was not in this alone. He was right. There was only one way to finish this. Inside myself, I felt the key enter that lock, the key I thought I had discarded. Slowly I turned it, feeling the tumblers click into place one by one until the latch released and the door creaked open.

_Finally!_

Cold indifference took over as I slowly emerged from behind the low wall. The chisel in my hand bit into the rope beside me, severing it. An echo boomed through the recesses of the house as the counterweights I had hastily rigged earlier slammed the front doors.

The visitors spun around in shock, staring at the space below me. Maitham dashed out of sight, the sounds of his fists upon the door reverberated. “It won’t open!”

Vahid scoffed. “The wind must have blown it shut, suspicious fool!”

Bidding my time, I waited for the inevitable. The penetrating wind at last unfurled my cloak. The motion caught Bijan’s eyes which steadily widened, the whites shining in their lantern light. He gazed transfixed in slack-jawed terror. The familiar sight of a body caving in on itself greeted me as he recoiled in wordless shock, stumbling up the wide stair case. The only sound that escaped him was a thready squeal.

Drawn from the door, Maitham dashed toward Bijan. Belatedly, his eyes followed the shocked gaze until they too discovered the source that held him transfixed. Scornfully, Vahid spat, “What is it with you two! It’s only a gust of wind.”

I released a low menacing laugh which echoed in the vaulted foyer. His eyes snapped up to the motion of the fabric stirring in the dark behind the half finished railing. Lifting his lantern, the light caught the silver pendant in its fiery gleam.

Vahid took a step forward, a grim smile tightening his lips. “Erik, The Angel of Doom! Well, now isn’t this a surprise.”

Folding my arms across my chest, I gazed down at the trio. There was no doubt who the leader was. The other two, while obviously driven by a need for revenge, were crippled by their weak wills. Wills that to a venomous tongue such as Vahid were but horses to be harnessed for his ambitions. The hilt he was fingering bore a blade he would use to silence their tongues as readily as any other in this scheme, once the curtain had dropped on his final act. I knew his kind … many of their throats had ended by my Punjab cord.

The voice that answered was not my own, it was his. “I bid you welcome.” Insidious and coldly calm, I let that voice seep out of the depths. Like the wreathing smoke of incense, the subtle effects would build … under those four words alone I saw the altered states of Maitham and Bijan. Unless I released them from the trance, they would not put up a fight. Even then, I doubted they would. Vahid was a different matter altogether. Dark eyes glistened back rimmed with hatred, he barely flinched.

“So, it is true.” He shifted the lantern once more, lifting it higher as he tried to light the shadow in the darkness. “There were tales insisting that the Angel had died escaping Persia. Who knew that the despicable Daroga himself would have assisted in your escape. Never would I have believed it until we discovered both of you hiding here.”

Inclining my head, I replied, “The events of which you speak are worlds away, decades in the past. What compels a man to such grave lengths as to roust the sleeping dead?”

He paused for a moment, narrowing his eyes at my words. “An insane monster like the Angel of Doom could never simply die. The courts of Persia echoed with the whispers of your wretched death sentence for years. No! I have done the world a favor by luring you out into the light where you can meet the fate you once escaped! I shall relieve you of your head.”

I heard the words, felt them twist into me like corkscrews. Floating in a strange kind of stasis, I felt him embracing the pain, feeding it to the fire, fueling the furnace into a forging blaze. Insane monster. Well now, if that is true is it wise to pester a dark legend? No one who had born witness to my wicked duties in Persia would have willingly risked the chance my hand might turn upon him. Thus I assumed … “This is the first time you have gazed upon the Angel. You have come guided by rumors and whispers.”

“Yes!” His feet carried past the two who remained locked in my control. Standing below me in the center of the vast foyer, he roared while shaking a fist. “I never gazed upon your hideous displays! But I did not need to, my father was visited by you! Mine and both of theirs! We have come for the blood debts of Qaisar Darvish, Kamran Khan, and Manuchehr Khan.”

The names meant no more then Vahid’s did to me. It was highly likely the men had met their fate by my hands. Countless men had entered my torture chamber or been flung to a pit where they faced me in single combat. A pit only I ever returned from. That was four decades ago, the ruthless acts of a mind distorted by hashish.

“You were never meant to be here.” Vahid threw his head back laughing. “It is a shame that we shall have to leave the blade hired to slay you shivering in the snow. He will join the Daroga, your wife, and your son in a freezing death.”

Carelessly, I flung the blade down onto the stones between his feet. The clatter echoed long enough to be joined by his sharp intake of breath. Wait a moment, when had I gotten that? _Silence, you don’t need to worry about that one. I took care of him for you when you weren’t looking._ “You mean him? He met with an unfortunate accident prior to reaching his post. Not that it would have been worth his while, you greatly over-estimated the time line of these events playing out. An amateurish performance, at best. Had your plan been permitted to progress, he should have arrived to find the contents of the Dead-House had miraculously vanished. Really, I am a magician. Making things disappear is child’s play.”

It dawned on him gradually, his whispered words betraying his shock. “You have secured them! Our leverage is gone!”

I nodded spreading my hands wide. “I will overlook your shortsighted attempt, for all your plotting was commenced without ever once having witnessed your target perform. You could not possibly have known what you were up against.”

Twisted by rage, his face contorted in the shadows. Raving up at me he cried, “You think this is a game, you disfigured freak! In this house tonight you will die!” He turned and began to ascend the stairs.

Throwing my head back, I unleashed a peel of maniacal laughter. Vahid’s progress up the staircase stalled, the color drained from his features as he turned to gaze across the void. “Fool! I am already dead and once buried! You fight against a ghost and in your puerile fury you have commissioned your own deaths. Even now you stand within the pit of your demise.”

Inside me, _his_ fury quickened alarmingly. Quite suddenly I tried to wrest control of my limbs from him only to find the action denied. What was he doing? No! Not this much! The door, it wasn’t just cracked open. With a savage bang he threw it wide, the demon’s claws flinging me inside the cell before I felt the door close and the lock turn **on me**!

Oh shit! Let me out! What have I done!

_Your turn, Erik. Heh heh heh! See how you like it!_

He made me witness everything, powerless to intervene.

A victim of the malevolent laughter, Vahid blinked, slowly. I had overpowered his anger-fueled defense, but only just. This was a tenuous hold … but I did not want to hunt an entranced prey. That banished all the pleasure of the kill.

“Every trick, every trap I required, your patsy Ballard unwittingly requested within this mansion.” Sliding along the railing, I dragged my fingers along the frosty stone. “The work of an hour before you blindly stepped into my trap was all I required to complete the alterations to the labyrinth of corridors.” Holding up a single finger I smiled, savoring the three sets of now terrified eyes fixed upon me. “There is only one way out of here. I will sportingly give you a hint, it is not the most direct route.” Folding into the concealing shadows, I threw my voice to the staircase behind them. “Now—run!”

The moment I released them, the three men scrambled into the dark hallways. Their raspy breath betrayed each of their passages. There was no hurry for me. Extensive knowledge of the effects of fear meant that I could quite reasonably observe the frantic scrambling of the little rats without concern for them seeing any possible effective escape route. While the boards over the windows permitted some wind to pass through the structure, the purpose of the boards had been to bar trespassers from access while the site was inactive. Now they provided an equally effective barrier, keeping my quarry contained. Driven into place by the hands of masons, they could never be dislodged by a simple direct force. In my hand I now grasped a small wedge, if only they had one of these and a mallet they could force a board loose to freedom. What a shame access to such a key item had been denied.

Casting my voice into various crevices throughout the structure to drive them to distraction, I allowed my victims a full hour to explore unhindered their fate. Aimlessly I wandered about the structure, letting them feel my presence but never see me in the shadows. This was all a game, hide and seek. The only difference was when the Angel of Doom found them … the game ended. It was amusing to think these men had spent all this time planning vengeance upon a man they had never seen. A man they had only heard about. Clearly these cowards at heart had never intended to actually end up in a pit with me. They never dreamed that their plan would be turned upon them. The moment they realized how far the legends fell from the truth was the moment their bravado abandoned them. Such a familiar sight, petulant human scum bowing and scraping in fear before the Angel of Doom! Do they not know there is no mercy?

Ghosting through a second story corridor, my ears caught a frantic mumbling. In a small chamber that had been designed to house a reptile enclosure, I found Bijan on his hands and knees, a series of platitudes leaving his lips in a slurred haste.

This one was almost too simple, it was even a little insulting! The blind fool had provided the method of his execution and his disposal in the flick of one concealed lever. My hand groped in the darkness along the wall searching for the small recess. Once my fingers found it, a single careless motion released the catch that held the trap-door in place. A trap-door whose purpose had been to readily dispose, directly into the sewers, the inevitable mess that resulted in captive reptiles. After dropping through a two story shaft that extended beyond the basement, it connected to the system in a sharp ninety-degree bend before the water-filled tunnel connected to the main line via a submerged locked grate. Bijan’s shattered body may stand a chance of discovery during the spring torrents, if it should cause a noticeable backup at the grate.

Flicking the lever back up, I watched the trap-door shut once more, the presence concealed entirely from view. Less than a single minute and without a sound, the man’s fate had been visited upon him.

Resuming the hunt, I shifted through the maze of hallways, past blockades I had erected with construction debris. Maitham’s panicked gasps carried in the frigid air before he blundered around the corner. The moment he realized I was there smiling down upon him, he turned and broke into a run back the way he came.

I was in no real hurry. Leisurely, I wandered down the corridor after him, throwing my voice here and there, frightening the man into a stumbling mass of limbs. His head met with a pillar in a blind dash. I laughed as his body twisted in a frantic effort to regain his balance, blood from the cut on his forehead dripping into his eyes.

“Tell me, Maitham … tell me how it feels to have death breathing down your back. How many names did you write down in your little notes? Hrm? Names of people, real people with real lives that you decided no longer deserved to live because of their connection with the scheme.”

He scrambled around the pillar, scrubbing the blood away from his eyes. “You are a vile demon! The numbers of those you put to death are uncountable! The names I wrote needed to die.”

“Foolish reasoning.” I replied coolly. “Innocent men with no more connection to me than employment. Hired hands of yours who had exhausted their usefulness. Acquaintances of mine that were unspeakably slaughtered in an effort to harm me. You have the gall to accuse me of a being a demon? There is blood upon your hands too.”

Breaking away he tore down the hall, screaming out in terror.

Reaching into the recesses of my cloak, I pulled out the thin strand of catgut that had been the fear of so many Persian subjects, the Punjab cord. There could be no more fitting fate for this one!

Maitham must have thought he had placed sufficient distance between us. I watched as he slowed his pace, glancing back to see if I was in still pursuit. He never saw the thin cord snake through the dark and encircle his neck. With a single savage pull I felt the sensation of the cartilage rings supporting the windpipe collapse as they were crushed by the pressure. He dropped to the floor, twitching as I emerged from the shadows with a cold smile. His eyes still responded to the stimulus as I reached down and flicked the knot loose. Retrieving the weapon I left him, confident the swelling of his crushed windpipe would eventually carry him to his grave. The man who pulled the trigger on Wallbeck had likely bled to death by now, the voice who commanded it had been silenced.

Only Vahid remained … good, this was how I wanted it to be. Now all that remained was to guide him to his fate.

I discovered him on the main floor, clutching his knife as he picked his way cautiously through each room. Allowing him to glimpse me for a moment, I delighted in the response it invoked! With a will the Persian flew at me in a rage swearing to Allah that he would slay me where I stood. Letting him pursue my shadow, I lead him on a merry chase down into the cellars under the vaulted arches.

Ducking into a dim arched side chamber, I waited in the silence, watching as Vahid’s lantern light edged across the walls. “You are just a man!” He shouted, “Like anyone else you can be killed!”

This man had been the commander of it all. He had driven the others into a rabid passionate fight for revenge all these years. It was within his mind that all the threats had come to pass. Arson, theft, injury, murder … all cold and calculated. The Angel was waiting to descend upon him.

He passed the room and I silently stepped into the hall behind him, throwing my voice into the corridor. “Ah, but can _you_ see in the dark?”

He turned just in time to glimpse me before I knocked the lantern from his hands.

Darkness. Blinding to some, for me this had been home! My eyes caught the faint reflections of what scant light carried down from above. Vahid’s panicked figure was a solid black relief as I moved around him.

In my left hand I grasped the mallet. Frantically he slashed in the darkness with the knife, clearly hoping to find me. I only laughed at his futile efforts, taunting him as he spun blindly. Toying with him, I let the blade contact the end of the mallet resulting in a fresh wave of flailing.

“Stand still!”

“I am.” I threw my voice behind him, watching him spin in a wild arc. The moment he was left off balance I brought the mallet into a devastating blow against his left side. Bones shattered as he crumpled in an airless rasp. So familiar … the memory of twisting and falling into the darkness struck by the stone.

His sobbing gasps trembled in the air as I stalked around the underground chamber, measuring out from memory where precisely everything was. The faint outlines brought me underneath the exact point I wanted to be. I reached up a hand to brush my fingertips against the top of the low arch.

“Tell me, Vahid, how much does that hurt?” I knew he could not really reply, all I heard was a gurgled cough. I assumed the blow must have broken at least one rib, driving the bone to penetrate the lung. That would be the source of the rather wet sounding breathing. “Remember, I told you there was only one way out of this hell … and it was not the most direct.” A chuckle escaped me. “Death never seems to be very straightforward, sidling up beside us in the dark. We never see it coming until the angel’s wings envelope us. Too late, far too late it ends carrying us off into oblivion.”

Throwing my head back, I laughed, relishing the sound in the darkness. The last echo stilled as Vahid’s coughing fit ended in a retching splash against the stones.

“Oh. Shall we light a lantern? Shall we see what color your blood is? I promise you it is red. As red as anyone else’s … as red as mine once was.”

The clatter of a knife sliding across the floor stole my attention. In the dim light I watched as he tried to use the blade to drag himself.

Amusing, and what was the futile idea behind this? He would never drag himself up the winding stairs. Not in his current condition, anyway. I could just let him continue, but no … he had not suffered enough. Hovering my foot above his ankle, I leaned back before driving all my weight down at a hard angle. The sound of the joint being rammed apart filled the chamber, the popping crunch of cartilage and tendons tearing in directions they were not intended to go. Vahid released a rasped wail as his lung collapsed.

“When you began this little game decades ago, an ocean away, did you ever fathom you would get so close only to be defeated now? Shall I pity you? No, I think not.” Reaching down I patted his ribs, rewarded by his gasp from the one lung that still functioned. “Not so long ago I was a victim of this torture. The shame is that you were not thorough enough. You should have finished me off when I was weak. Your fault lies in having waited too long. I healed, I regained my strength … and now the tide of the fickle Caspian sea has turned on you.”

Rising to my full height, I gazed around at the cellar tunnels, casting a glance over my shoulder at the staircase. One last calculation. “This miserable commission is a horrible blight. But I at least have found a final use for it. Oh, do not fret, you did pay for this after all. I will make certain it goes to good use. Do you know how much impact a human bone can take before it is crushed? I do.”

His breathing was slowing, shallow and labored.

“You summoned the Angel of Doom, Vahid. Do not tell me that this outcome surprised you? Decades have passed, I have writhed in the dark sleep waiting to be awakened! Waiting to return. I should thank you. However, I am not known for being a very gracious guest.”

The knife slid from his hands and he released a low moan.

“Well, if you refuse to converse with me I shall have to take my leave. But not without a gift of my appreciation first.” Grasping the mallet in both hands, I squared it with the keystone of the supporting arch. “An infernal tomb is about all this mansion is good for!” Swinging with all my might, I dislodged the block clear of the archway.

Fleeing the chaotic collapse in my wake, my feet carried me up the staircase as a vast hole opened, uniting the first floor and cellar. My calculation had been correct, the destruction was significant as the integrity of the arch gave way, but it still left a rim on the outside of the floor where the supporting walls remained. Scrambling along the ledge, I slipped into the debris laden passageway that concealed the counterweights which released their hold on the doors after the lock yielded to my pick.

Without a backward glance, I stalked out into the snow, feeling the wind tossing my cloak around me.

__Legends do not simply go back to sleep, Erik. You know better!_ _


	29. Chapter Twenty-nine

_ **Chapter 29** _

_ **** _

I do not remember riding Faust back to Damrosch’s household. I do not recall picking the lock of his front door, but I assume I must have, for no one witnessed my arrival. Somehow, I found myself drifting out of the fog as he released me, standing in silence over the guest bed where my wife and son lay huddled together beneath a thick down comforter. Lazy tongues of flame flickered in the hearth providing a warm glow.

They were so beautiful together. Christine’s skin had resumed a healthy tone as she rested peacefully. In a protective embrace, young Charles held her. One of his hands clasped hers. On the nightstand, a bottle of laudanum told the secret of their blessed slumber. They had been hastily snatched from death’s grasp. The morning would tell if there was any lasting damage.

My own hand drifted sluggishly from beneath my sodden cloak. Cold fingers resting upon their hands … red. There was red splattered on my fingers. Lifting both my hands, I stared in wonder at the dark stains on the winter white flesh. I had witnessed it all … like a dream or a nightmare. My hands had acted to another’s will, devoid of my conscious thought.

It was not me. I swear it!

_You’re quite right, it wasn’t you._

The cry of shock nearly escaped me, choked off only by my bloodstained hands covering my mouth. What had I done! Eyeing my sleeping loved ones I fled the room, not daring to have them awake, a witness to my despair. I was shaking as I retreated to the silent solitude of Damrosch’s sitting room. Standing before the window, I flexed my hands watching the dried blood cracking on my skin. What had I done? I knew what I had done … those memories drifted back in hellish detail. I knew why I had done it … the old excuse came out like a mantra: I had seen no other way to end this. What I could not answer was how I had grown so reckless as to have unlocked that secret door! What have I done!

 _You’ll see._ Laughter echoed against my skull, almost painful as I hung my head, shutting my eyes tightly to keep it inside, to force it back. But he refused to relent!

When I opened my eyes, they caught movement, a shadow from the doorway. Nadir quietly tread into the room, his passage lit by a single candle. Setting the holder upon a table, he joined me at the window, locked in silence for sometime as we both watched the falling snow.

“Is it finished?” he whispered, rubbing his forearm.

Very slowly I nodded, not daring to contemplate the full meaning of his words.

Releasing his breath, he closed his eyes in clear relief. “When you departed I feared you would never return.”

_Perhaps you really haven’t._

Shuddering at the passing thought, I covered my discomfort with a sigh. “They were boys.”

His concerned gaze turned to me. “Boys?”

I fumbled to find the proper explanation. “Had been boys, at the time we were in Tehran. They grew up without fathers … because I executed them.”

Wordlessly, Nadir beckoned me with a hand to continue.

The names left my lips without meaning, without consequence. There were no identities attached to these men.

Concentrating hard, he fell silent for a long time before murmuring. “Kamran Khan, I remember that fellow. He had been an adviser to the prime minister. When he fell out of favor the shah had you lock him in your chamber of mirrors. Manuchehr Khan was a court attendant. I remember arresting him for having stolen from the treasury … the shah decided he would face you, thinking it would be sporting. But this Qaisar Darvish was no ordinary execution.”

Silently, I turned my distant gaze to him, not certain I wanted to hear of his fate.

“You do not recall any of them?” he asked. When I did not reply, he lowered his eyes to the floor and continued. “Qaisar Darvish had been a religious man, quietly serving the people of Tehran. During the civil unrest, the shah suspected he was a Babi leader hiding under the guise of a peaceful religion. Unknowingly, the shah created a martyr when he ordered your merciless execution of the man. They arrested his wife who died of poisoning before the dawn, but his son was never found. Dear Allah, these boys would have lost everything with their fathers’ deaths at your hands. Is it a wonder they sought vengeance? They truly had nothing to lose.”

“Except their lives,” I replied somberly. “You were stripped of your title and exiled, and yet here you stand. In four decades I can think of hundreds of paths they could have taken, but they squandered a fortune only to fail in their singular united goal. It is such a pathetic waste.”

_Really? Are you one to speak? How long did you wallow in the cellars of the opera house?_

I flinched against the whisper, rubbing a hand through my hair in a vain attempt to banish it. Inside my head his laughter echoed at my effort.

Nadir offered a very slow shrug. “They had no one left to guide them.”

_Rather like you._

“That is not an excuse!” I snapped.

“Erik!” His startled reply rebuked me. “Did you ever stop to consider the fates of the families connected with those you executed?”

“Was **forced** to execute.” I corrected through clenched teeth. Why could he not just be silent now. Both of them! I detested what I had done back in those dark days. I did not want to remember!

“Do not dismiss it so easily!” Nadir persisted. “I remember how you embraced that dark service, focusing your loathing for the human species you failed to identify yourself with. I recall clearer than you seem to how you celebrated your clever twists upon the relentless array of deaths.” Grasping my sleeve, he earned a cold glare from my eyes. “Do you even remember how many you slaughtered in those days? How many you sealed within your cruel chamber of mirrors to be pressed to the point of suicide? How many died at your hands in the fighting pit?”

Laughter rumbled in my head before I lurched into Nadir’s face, roaring back, “No! I do not recall! Those days spent in your wretched courts are a blur of blood and darkness! Do you think I wanted it that way? Do you believe I look upon those days filled with pride over my actions? Somehow I imagine you believing that the very idea of my role as an executioner and assassin originated from me! You would be sadly mistaken. I could no more refuse that duty than you could have refused the shah’s order to follow me around like a demented bloodhound!” Out of the corner of my eye, I spied a shadow in the doorway. No doubt our raised voices would have attracted the attention of some servant. Before I had a chance to identify the eavesdropper, Nadir shouted in my face.

“This coming from the man who said _no_ to the shah more times than all the men in his council put together! Erik, do not think I am so naïve! You were clever enough to have found some way out of any duty you detested if you truly desired. But you didn’t even try. The death toll continued to amass in your bloody wake … to the point where it followed you here! Leaving us all at risk!”

“Spare me the rhetoric, Daroga!” I slashed the air with my hand, watching him take a defensive step backwards under my fury. “Was it not one of your duties to arrest the very men I had been ordered to put to death? Where is your guilt?”

Heatedly, he protested, “Many of those men went to prison.”

“Prison verses my torture chamber, shall we really trouble ourselves with the details? The fate was the same, only the duration of the suffering differed!”

Nadir closed his eyes. “Do not speak to me of the condition of those cells. A strong man could make it out again … that was **never** the case once the door to your chamber closed! Whether or not you lie in wait for them inside, the grave awaited!”

Countless deaths, twisted and horrific paraded through my memory. Corpses left flayed or burnt, strangled or broken … each face twisted into a grimace of fear as they had known their coming fate. Hunching over, I gripped the mask as the images overwhelmed me. That creature, that malevolent wicked beast was no longer secured within me. In a moment of weakness, I had let _him_ trick me into releasing _him_ and even now I felt the presence ebbing in the darkness. There was no hope of control, I was too weakened now. It was too late. I could not force _him_ back now. What have I done? What plague have I released on the innocent?

“You knew!” I cried out, tears rolling down my face beneath the mask. “Damn you! You knew what I was capable of back then! What a despicable monster lurked within my dark mind! And yet you chose that night to defy the shah, you released me when it was your sworn duty to deliver me for execution! My God, Nadir! Do you have any idea what abomination you let live! You should have ended my life and saved the world from my destructive wrath! Why did you release me when you knew what unspeakable fate you unleashed upon the world?”

My outburst had silenced him for a long moment. The voice that continued was hesitant, heavy with sorrow. “Because I thought I was doing the right thing. I had seen evidence you might change.”

“In all this time … all these years … I have not! Deep within I am still a demented monster!”

“Erik.” That was not Nadir’s voice. Nor was it the detestable voice that plagued me. Uncovering my eyes, I dared to look at the door to find Damrosch lingering there several shades grayer then I recalled. “You … you have to have changed. Dear God, I never … never would have known!”

Ashamed, I turned from him, leaning heavily on the windowsill for support. “Please … Nadir … tell me most of that raving lunacy was in Persian?”

Nadir didn’t answer. Damrosch stepped into the room beside him, replying solemnly, “No, Erik … that was all in plain English.”

My head fell, the mask contacting the cold glass.

_Now now, this is an interesting development. Shall we silence this one before he tells?_

My hands clenched into fists. No more, get back inside your cage, monster!

_Heh heh. Make me._

Driving my fist against the window frame I felt my gut twisting in fear. _He_ could take me at anytime and that was a message I could not ignore.

“Erik, you honestly didn’t know what language you were speaking?” Nadir asked, true concern in his words.

I did not look up as I rocked my head back and forth against the window.

“Dear Allah!”

The trembling started in my hands until I felt it invade practically every muscle. Damrosch’s hands guided me to a chair as I sank under the weight of the revelation. In my earlier desperation, I had committed my greatest sin ever … unlocking that God damned door!

“Erik.” His voice was firm, coaxing me back to the present. “I saw the condition Christine and Charles were both in when you brought them here. Nadir told me of how you found them … the men who did that to them were heartless.” A nervous glance was all he spared at my hands. “I assume that this entire mess is over.”

Distantly I replied, “We shall need to replace Reiniger.”

His breath caught for a moment. “What do you mean?”

Picking a little of his dried blood from my fingers, I continued. “I was not paranoid, I was right. He has met his fate alongside those who hired him.”

Stepping closer to me, Nadir’s hand drew my gaze up to meet his. “Is there anyway how you handled this will lead back to you?”

I shook my head stiffly. “The storm left the streets all but deserted. Any tracks will be covered. The snow muffled their cries from the rest of the world. Spring … spring thaw will likely be the first they are even noticed. No one is likely to make the connection.” I was so tired, my eyes were closing. But I didn’t want to sleep! Not now. Not with the darkness that waited there.

“Alright” Nadir nodded. “That settles it. Not one word leaves this room.”

“That tactic worked masterfully in Persia.” I remarked wearily.

Damrosch laid a hand on my arm. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up. There’s a second guest room upstairs, you may get some sleep there.”

Wide eyed, I tried to stand up and elude his assistance. “Oh no, I cannot intrude upon your hospitality any longer than I have! Not now that you know … ”

He held a hand up, silencing me. “A discussion for another time, if ever. You need a place of refuge right now, for you would never make it back to your home in your current state. Come, I insist.”

I could have protested further but his hand gently guided me out the door. In a short time, I was washing my hands in a bowl of water, mechanically scrubbing the blood off with a liberal amount of soap as though it would help cleanse something deeper.

Damrosch stood beside me, holding a fresh towel as he rambled on in a one sided conversation I was barely hearing. “We’ll shift the concerts a bit for the holidays. I can arrange for some hand picked concertos to perform some selections without anyone being the wiser. Your piece we can debut after we have replaced the second chair.” He said nothing of me, but I knew at a glance as I dried my hands that was precisely his greatest concern. “Perhaps in December, or early January? That would be a real treat for everyone.”

He was talking about music like nothing had happened … under his roof he was knowingly harboring a mass murderer. Part of the veil of my past had peeled back. In the morning, when the shock, wore off would he be willing to live with the knowledge of what I had been? Not just a magician … I made more than mere trinkets disappear. I had made lives vanish without compunction.

Blindly, I let him guide me to the bed. Outside the window, the sky was blushing with dawn as the clouds parted.

Damrosch called out from the door. “Sleep as long as you need to. I will make certain that no one disturbs you.”

Even as I lay down, I heard myself muttering wearily, “I do not need to sleep … I need to wake up. Oh God, I have to wake up!”


	30. Epilogue

_ **Epilogue** _

_ **** _

__**~January 1897~** _ _

Carnegie Hall was standing room only despite the swirling winter storm outside. The evening had sold out within a day of the newspaper announcing that Erik’s score, _The Aviary_ was to debut performed by the Symphony Society. Wisely, the best seats in the house had been set aside for Christine, Charles, and Nadir.

Bathed in the bright lights of the stage, the symphony brought to life each brilliant movement, carrying both the gracefully somber and the vibrant currents. Every member of the audience sat in awe with the complexity presented for them … a veritable feast for the ears! Already the concert was running longer then Damrosch had assumed, due to the lengthy applause between each piece. He had been forced to wait, his baton not having the same commanding effect upon them as his musicians.

On his podium, driving into the spirited last movement before the intermission, a piece Erik had entitled _Nightingale’s Sonata_ , he felt like a song bird himself winging over his brethren, displaying bright plumage. He knew he was not the only one who fell prey to the imagery. More than once during a rehearsal, Erik had been prone to leaving his seat to cavort about the edge of the stage with his violin. An action that was most likely to seize him within this precise movement.

Sliding his gaze over at the concertmaster seated to his left, Damrosch expected to find the seat empty. Instead he almost dropped his baton! The work was complex, and directing it took nearly all his concentration. This was the first moment he had spared to truly look at Erik. He was playing, masterfully as ever — the notes pouring out from the Stradivarius like pure golden honey. Though it sounded effortless and beautiful, something was wrong. Erik’s eyes were locked on something on the music stand — sheet music! Never in the five years he had played with the symphony had he ever used even a single sheet. This was his own work … and yet the eyes behind the mask were narrowed, strained with extreme concentration, the motions of his bow suffering a slight choked hesitation.

Trying not to stare, Damrosch drove the baton onward. To most of the audience, the strange behavior of this violinist was likely invisible. Erik was known for his perfection on the instrument, and even blind drunk he could outplay the next best within the city.

The last page turned, the conductor drew the powerful surge of the nightingale’s full throated flight to a close! The audience exploded as the house lights flooded the auditorium. A standing ovation!

Holding his arms out to the symphony, Damrosch announced over the clapping, “We will now have a short intermission before the second half of our performance.”

Turning to his left, he found Erik’s seat was vacant. In the commotion, no one had seen him leave the stage, but there was only one door. Hastily Damrosch pushed through the musician’s funneling backstage. “Has anyone seen Erik?” Musician after musician shook their heads.

Out into the main hallways, Damrosch muttered quietly to himself as he opened a few doors, checking inside the dressing rooms, “A man in a mask, he’s not exactly hard to miss!”

At long last his search brought him to the door marked Director of the Arts. Through the frosted glass he saw no lights on inside Erik’s office and so assumed as he opened the door he would find it deserted.

A sudden twisting motion caught his eye. Damrosch saw Erik hastily turning his back, shielding himself from the door.

“Close it!” His voice muffled by his sleeve was strained. “Leave the lights off!”

Shutting the door behind him, he stepped toward the desk. “Erik? Are you alright?”

“No.” The mumbled word was followed by deep trembling. “Please, the lights … it is the stage lights. They hurt my eyes!” He lifted his masked face briefly from the shelter of his arm, before dropping it once more with a moan. “Leave the lights off!”

“They are off.” Damrosch replied quietly. Observing the trembling musician for some time, he swallowed. “Do we need to cancel the rest of the concert?”

Erik uncoiled, his fingers clawing at the desk in desperation. “No! You cannot cancel! Please! This may be the last time I can hold it together enough to play! I have to play my composition! At least once — I must play my composition!”

No sooner had Erik lapsed into silence then his hands grasped his head in a vice. Clamping his eyes shut he growled. “It never stops! Never silent! Always chatting on and on and on! The voice! That insolent voice will not relent!”

Wide eyed, Damrosch tried several times to reach out. His hand hovered just about to touch Erik when he thought better of it. “Will this pass?”

Erik’s eyes cracked open before he laid his head upon an outstretched arm. “Not entirely.” He panted. “Give me the intermission to seek refuge and I will find the strength to suppress it for the duration of the concert.”

Cautiously, Damrosch counted the number of times Erik winced as he lie there shuddering. “How long has this been happening?”

“Months. It has been nearly half a year now, growing steadily worse.”

Leaning forward he gasped, “Half a year? Dear heavens! Does Christine know?”

Erik pushed up from the desk, supporting his head with a hand as he blinked slowly. “No … I have been hiding it from her. Seeking seclusion when I can no longer stand it … like now. I do not know why I have even told you … ”

“You have to tell her,” he replied severely. “Erik, she has to know what’s going on!”

A low weary laugh escaped him. “Do not tell her … ignorance is bliss.”

“You don’t think she suspects — ”

Erik’s thin hand slashed the air with finality. “If she does, she respects my dignity enough not to mention it. Now … there is something else.”

Reaching down, he opened a drawer. His fingers released a catch that opened a hidden compartment. From it he withdrew a large stack of aged leather-bound vellum placing it reverently into Damrosch’s hands.

Wordlessly, the conductor stared at the titles on the pages, turning quite a few shades lighter. He swallowed before meeting the pained gaze of the composer. “Erik … this is a Requiem Mass. _Your_ Requiem Mass!”

Solemnly he nodded before wincing. “I trust that when the day comes, you will conduct both the Symphony and Oratorio societies with the appropriate treatment in my absence.”

“You’re not dying … ” he whispered, “are you?”

Very slowly, Erik shrugged. “I do not know what lies ahead … and that frightens me, a great deal. The ability to maintain the facade is steadily being eaten away. Sooner or later … ” He lapsed into silence, his head edging down seeking refuge in the bend of his sleeve. The trembling was subsiding.

Bringing out his pocket watch, Damrosch laid it open atop the stack of aged vellum. His eyes watched the minutes ticking by as he let Erik rest in the darkness. Relentlessly, time drove ever onwards.

“Erik … ” he softly called out, nudging the long fingers on the desk. “The intermission will be ending soon. We need to get back to the stage. Are you sure you can do this?”

His mismatched eyes opened sluggishly. Bracing himself, he pushed up from the desk in one lurching motion. “Yes.” There was a cold determination in his voice. “I must do this.” Taking the Stradivarius in his hand he took one staggered step followed by another toward the door. Each one grew that much smoother before he opened the door. Damrosch noted grimly how long Erik kept his eyes shut.

In the dark wing of the stage, they waited in silence. Erik leaned against the wall, frozen like a statue. It wasn’t strange in itself, he was known for becoming taciturn in his preparation for a performance … Damrosch couldn’t help but dwell on what he had discovered this morning when he arrived at the Hall.

The winter winds had gusted harder, changing directions at every whim. A small object fell from above his head, landing beside the row of main doors in a drift of snow. It left behind a deep depression of the most unusual shape. Bending down, he reached into the snow to find the object. In the drift, the frozen body of a little bird had plummeted from above. His tiny frame had been stilled in the act of being huddled, the condition of his feathers betraying he had succumbed to the harsh winter many a day before the wind had torn him from his final perch. This little bird had been no stranger to Damrosch. It was the little nightingale. Freed from the cruel cage by Erik’s gentle hands, the little bird had likely no idea of where to fly when the weather had turned. Failing to seek refuge in the safety and warmth of Erik’s mansion, the biting cold must have taken him to his early grave.

Clinging in the shadows of the wing, Erik’s stiff body eerily resembled the frail bird he had cradled in his hands just this morning. Damrosch took a slow step toward him, his hand rising in a gesture to offer support.

Erik misread it as his cue to enter the stage. Wordlessly, he turned into the light. The moment it washed over him was like a string pulling him up to his full bearing. In a matter of two steps, he banished everything but a slight hitch in his usually graceful step. The casual observer would have missed it entirely.

Both hands closed tightly on the baton, Damrosch bowed his head as a bead of sweat trailed down his forehead. The world could never know the truth … he was witnessing the nightingale’s fall from his pinnacle.


End file.
